


Budding Surprises

by Dellessa, Quiet_Shadow



Series: Budding Surprises [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Babies, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Mech Preg, Multi, Slash, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa/pseuds/Dellessa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lost Light crew is in for a surprise, a very big surprise.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“After going through individual screenings and almost a hundred rounds of CNA testing,” he started in a slow, perfectly audible voice, the crowd hanging at his lips, “I can at least confirm that no, we didn’t get collectively Sparked up by Rodimus being just that fragging lucky and awesome during a night of drunken, massive ship-wide orgy.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The silence was almost deafening as Ratchet climbed on the raised platform, his expression stony. The crew watched him with wariness mixed with hope and dread, some of them rubbing their hands together to reassure themselves. Surely, the medic held the solution to their current… trouble. He must. He was one of Cybertron’s best doctors, if not THE best. If anyone was to find a remedy to their unexpected situation, or even an explanation as to HOW it had happened, then it was him.

Slowly, the medic poked at the micro, testing. His gaze went swiftly through the crowd gathered before him; apparently, there was few if any member of the Lost Light missing. Granted, given the circumstances...

“After going through individual screenings and almost a hundred rounds of CNA testing,” he started in a slow, perfectly audible voice, the crowd hanging at his lips, “I can at least confirm that no, we didn’t get collectively Sparked up by Rodimus being just that fragging lucky and awesome during a night of drunken, massive ship-wide orgy.” He glared dagger at the Co-Captain, who raised his hands in surrender.

“Hey, that was just an hypothesis!”

Ratchet snorted, and rolled his optics, “Right. The sparks are all in seemingly good condition, and they all seem to have budded in the same two week period, but why...I am still looking into that.” 

“Are you sure they aren’t just parasites? Maybe they aren’t sparks at all!” Swerve chirped from the back, “Cause I know I can’t really be carrying.” 

“I’m positive,” Ratchet said. “You are. I have a list posted outside of the infirmary. I expect to see each of you at the times listed. And yes, that means you too Whirl. The dispensers have all been changed to medical grade energon. I know it is not the best tasting, but the mineral will help in frame construction. In addition...Perceptor will be helping me sort this mess out. We would appreciate any...volunteers.” 

Tailgate squeaked in the front, “W-what will happen if we a-all go into emergence at once? What are we going to d-do with a ship full of sparklings? I mean....we don’t even have anything to put them in. I don’t know what to even do with a sparkling.” 

“I’m sure you will learn fast,” Ratchet said. They were all going to have to learn fast, he mentally added to himself as he gazed through the crowd again, all of them sporting very protruding bellies by now. A ship full of Carrying mechs… Primus, he needed a freaking drink!

“But are we even sure they’re Sparklings?” Brainstorm questioned from his place in the back of the room. “I’m not an expert, but we all managed to get Sparked up around the same time, perhaps even the same day. Suspension of disbelief asides, we started to show symptoms of Carrying within a three decacycles period, and look at us now! We’re not even four decacycles in since the first case was reported, and we’re all looking like we’re in late term already!”

“And you’re point is?” Ratchet asked a sickly sweet voice.

“I’m just saying nothing about it is natural,” the scientist defended. “Some of us are still Sealed, there’s no way we got Sparked up the normal way. And we still don’t know what caused it, which should be our priority to uncover!”

“Perhaps it was aliens who did it?” Bluestreak offered meekly, sparking off yet another debate on how the Pit they had ended up mysteriously Sparked and on an accelerated Sparkling-growth process. Ratchet had to give the crew credit, their suggestions were highly entertaining… if you were drunk out of your processor, that’s it.

The medic sighed. “Megatron, Magnus, if you could try to bring back some calm here…?”

Megatron looked equally sour as the rest of the crew. His frame farther along in the carrying cycle than most. He looked about the crew, “Ratchet is right. Panicking is not going to help any of us. We have all gotten through far worse situations than this. A few sparklings are not going to jeopardize our quest.” 

“That was my line,” Rodimus grumbled from behind him, earning himself a glare from Megatron. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, Megatron is right in this matter,” Ultra Magnus said. “We must carry on. If not for our sakes than for the sparklings.” 

Brainstorm threw up his hands, “We don’t even know they are sparklings!” 

Ratchet growled, “Did you miss the whole spiel about CNA? Yes. They are sparklings. They are real sparklings, and I expect to see all of you at my office at the correct times.” 

There were groans from the crowd and shuffling about. 

“Time to disperse,” Ultra Magnus finally said. “This new developement is no reason to skirt any of your duties. I expect to see ALL of you carrying on as usual. Tailgate, please report to me. There are some special cleaning duties I would like for you to see to. The rest of you, dismissed.” 

More groans and shuffling were heard as the crew started to leave the room, air buzzing with conversations in low voices. Obviously, Ratchet’s confirmation that they were indeed all expecting Sparklings didn’t seem to have convinced a number of individuals, Brainstorm chief among them.

“I tell you, it’s ridiculous,” he bemoaned at Nautica, Bluestreak and Nightbeat, who were walking beside him -- plus a few other members of the crew who were also walking in the same general direction and were eavesdropping. “Sparked up, when tests upon tests showed there was no trace of transfluid in our gestation chambers? That’s impossible!”

“But you’re sure there isn’t any?” Nightbeat asked, visor flashing.

“Positive,” the flier grunted. “I helped do and redo the tests with Ratchet, even if the data analysis was mainly left to the medical team. There wasn’t a single drop of transfluid or foreign nanites which could have explained the fact we’re all swelling at fast rate. And even if there were, what to think of the fact some of us still have seals in place? That some of us seem to have regrown a working chamber overnight when it had previously been damaged or destroyed?” He shook his head. “It makes no sense and I refuse to believe it the whole ship is about to have a massive load of new Creators to deal with.”

“So I’m right?” Bluestreak asked in a small voice. “Aliens did it, right? Do you think they did it like in that human movie, with that weird alien creature which lay eggs and then there are parasites which gets out of the eggs and attach themselves to their victims’ face and lay small creatures in them and they burst out from the chest and they have acid for blood if I remember right and I think I’m very very very scared suddenly,” the mech babbled, shaking.

“I think if we had egg-laying parasites on board, we’d have noticed by now,” Nightbeat temporized, nonplussed. “Say, how come we haven’t headed back for Cybertron yet. Whatever is causing that--” he patted his own swollen belly “-- I don’t think we’re equipped to deal with it.”

Brainstorm grunted. “Wish we could, but the Co-Captains, the medics and the science team all vetoed the idea. Perceptor argued that if our state is caused by an unknown pathogen currently on board, then we could risk contaminating all Cybertron’s population by accident.”

“So you think it’s, what, a virus?”

Brainstorm shrugged sullenly, “I don’t know. I’ve gone through my own coding, and I did not find a trace of one. Well, not a known one. I don’t know any virus that would cause such a thing. Not like this. I mean I’ve heard of mechs that have false carrying cycles, but it is nothing like this. I don’t know what to make of this, and you know I hate admitting to such a thing, but I really don’t.”

“You’re not making me feel any better,” Bluestreak mumbled. “Actually you are making me feel a lot worse. “What if they really are sparklings? What are we going to do? I’m not ready to be a creator. I don’t even have a conjunx, endura or otherwise. How am I going to take care of a sparkling? I’ve never even been around any.” He whimpered, and looked down at his abdominal plates.

“Aw, don’t get too worked up, kid. I’m sure they will figure this out,” Nightbeat said, and put a comforting hand between Bluestreak’s wings.

“It’s going to be okay,” Nautica echoed. “You shouldn't get too worked up, Blue. I can’t imagine it would be good for the sparkling anyway.” 

Bluestreak whimpered again, “That doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

“Frag, it doesn’t make ME feel any better either,” Brainstorm said. “If they really are sparklings we are so screwed. What if we all go into emergence at once. Can you imagine?” 

“Ugh, not a picture I want to imagine,” Nautica said. “Thanks for the image, Brainy.”

“Let’s try not to panic,” Nightbeat raised a hand. “I’m sure Ratchet will be studying the problem, and there’s no guarantee we end up with such odds against us…” He paused, the other glancing at him as if he was crazy, and he mentally had to admit the Lost Light’s track record wasn’t the greatest. He coughed and tried to change the subject.

“You’re alright Nautica? You look distracted since we left the reunion?” Nightbeat noted, looking at the femme up and down. She waved asides the concern with a hand, the other rubbing her protruding belly in slow circles.

“Hum? Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just that I’m feeling her kick since a few cycles now, and she’s an energetic little thing,” she answered without looking at the mechs around her, blinking as they stopped walking abruptly. “Okay, what did I say now?”

Bluestreak’s doorwing fluttered in distress. “You can feel the Sparkling KICK!?”

Nightbeat stared hard. “You can FEEL the Sparkling kick!?”

Brainstorm tilted his head to the side, curious. “You can fell HER kick!? What make you think it’s going to be a femme -- assuming we go with the Sparkling hypothesis?”

The purple femme shrugged. “Well, yeah. You haven’t yet?” The mechs shook their heads, some of them looking down at their swollen abdomen in horror. “As to why I think it’s a femme… well, Carriers can sense those things.” She was beaming and giggling. “Just wait until Firestar learns about that! Ah! I get to be a Creator before her. Can’t wait to rub that in her face!” She started walking away with a bounce in her steps.

“... I’m starting to wonder if whatever ailment we caught has affected her CPU,” Brainstorm muttered under his breath, shaking his head slowly.

Bluestreak still stood rooted to the spot. “Is it going to damage my internals? I mean...what if it kicks to hard! I don't want that to happen. I don't want that to happen at all.” 

Nightbeat squinted at him, “You’re going to be fine. Come on. Lets go get some fuel. I don’t know about you but I feel parched.” 

Bluestreaker hunched over for a moment, before he let Nightbeat drag him along. Nautica had stopped and was waiting for them all looking impatient. “You know. It’s not that bad Blue. It really isn’t. You need to stop fretting. It’s going to make you glitch.” 

“Don’t say that!” Bluestreak said. “It’s nothing to joke about. This whole thing is horrible. The ship is going to be overrun with alien babies and you are joking. What if they eat out all of our insides! Or....our cpus. I don’t even want to think about it. This is the worse.” 

“You know...you are starting to sound like Red Alert,” Brainstorm cackled from in front of them.

Bluestreak froze again. “I do not!” he protested vehemently as Brainstorm’s cackles doubled, followed by those of a couple of eavesdroppers. Nightbeat just sighed; hopefully everyone would calm down soon and they could forget about their latest run-in with weird happenstances. Well… as much as one could forget getting swarmed by Sparklings, he mused as he glanced down at himself and patted his swollen abdomen absently. Kicking… and the serious threat of the whole crew entering labor around the same time. Primus. He didn’t wish to be part of the medical team right now.

In another part of the ship, Swerve smiled at the group which had gathered around him. “Gentlemechs, let’s lay your bets!” He knocked against a writing board he had settled behind his bar. “Speak, and I shall hear you; now, who want to start?”

“... ten credits it’s an alien parasite?” someone offered meekly, making Swerve sigh dramatically.

“Please, I think we can find something better! And besides, that’s not the only thing we can bet on. Who cares to guess who will be the first to undergo emergence?” he smiled brightly before cackling at the stunned look and agitated discussion breaking out between the patrons.

“I don’t think Ultra Magnus will look kindly at your little side business,” Perceptor noted from his position, sitting on a stool by the bar, sipping a cube of medical grade energon with a blank face. Whether it was blank because of the situation or because of the taste, Swerve was hard pressed to guess and he just shrugged.

“I think he has other preoccupations right now. Besides, it’s harmless and it provides us all with innocent fun!”

“That remains to be seen,” the scientist said dryly. “Fortunately for you, our local Enforcer is more preoccupied with his own state to pay close attention to every details, despite his earlier desire to see everyone keep working as normal.”

“I don’t see why. I mean, sure, you can see he has gained a bulge but compared to, say, Megatron or Rung, he’s rather flat.”

“The Magnus armor makes it look flat,” Perceptor corrected, still sipping. “Minimus Ambus himself looks like a balloon about to pop, I saw him earlier in the medbay while taking samples. Oh, and if you’d be so kind as to put thirty credits on him being the first to undergo emergence?”

“I thought you weren’t going to participate,” Swerve laughed. 

“I never said that,” Preceptor's lips slowly curled into an amused smile. “I merely pointed out that Ultra Magnus would not appreciate this. He would not, in fact.”

“Riiiight,” Swerve said. “Any other takers?” 

“25 credits on Cyclonus,” Whirl yelled from the back. “Slagger has gotten Huuuge!” 

“That is a horrible thing to say,” Tailgate piped up. 

Whirl snickered, “Aw, did I upset you, pipsqueak?”

“It was a mean thing to say,” Tailgate said, crossing his arms over the lump on his abdominal plating.

“Fifty credits on Tailgate,” Rewind said, bumping against the minibot, and putting an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll split it with you if we win.” 

“Reeeewind!” Tailgate squealed, sounding betrayed. The other ‘bot just chuckled as his Conjunx Endura sneaked up behind him and laced his arms around his belly. Chromedome seemed just as amused as his mate.

“How about I bet on you Rewind, hmm?” he asked, pressing his belly against the smaller mech’s back. “Or… hey, Swerve, are we allowed to bet on ourselves?”

“I don’t see why not,” the Minibot laughed as he continued to note down a series of bets on the writing board. “And I don’t see why I wouldn’t place a bet myself. Hmm… 40 credits on Ravage,” he announced after a moment of mock-reflection.

Perceptor raised an optic ridge. “Ravage? Really?”

The barmech shrugged. “Why not? Everyone is fair game to bet on, and I’ve heard felines like him usually carry fast. Sure bet, he?”

“I’ve also heard they have emergences in private and hidden in little secluded areas,” Tailgate pipped up, the subject obviously interesting him. “But come to think, I haven’t seen him in a while. Is he alright? Did he have his Sparkling already?”

Perceptor chuckled. “As far as I know, he certainly did not. Our resident Cassette simply ducked into the ship’s ventilation system after a meeting with Nautica. She tried to pet and belly-rub him while cooing he was a ‘pretty kitty’,” he elaborated, making the ones who heard him burst in laughter.

“Aw, man, I wish I had been able to see that,” Swerve snickered, wiping a tear out of his optics. “Perhaps I should have a side bet on how many babies he’s going to whelp. Cybercats, no matter their kind, rarely get single births. Come to think, I should make one for Steeljaw as well.”

Perceptor raised an optic ridge and lifted his gaze slightly as he heard a low hiss nobody else seemed to have noticed, coming from the vent above the right side of the bar. He could barely make out the dim glow of two red optics, but it was enough for him to smirk dryly. Swerve had just managed to land himself in trouble, even if he didn’t know it… yet.

This could prove to be interesting. Very interesting. He tuned out the chorus of voices behind him placing yet more bets, and placed a hand over his middle...and felt something stir. He froze, feeling another flutter and then...a kick so sharp it made a squeak burst from his vocalizer. A high, and embarrassingly loud squeak. The murmurs around him froze, and all optics settled on him. 

“Are you okay?” Drift’s voice came from behind him. He had not even known Drift was there. 

The sparkling kicked again, and it hurt enough to squeeze a whimper from his vocalizer. “No,” he managed to say.

“No?” Drift echoed. “Maybe we should get you to Ratchet. Maybe you are going into emergence now.” 

That created a stir in the crowd around them. 

“I’m fine,” Perceptor mumbled. 

“It doesn’t look like it,” Tailgate said, and craned his neck to look up at Perceptor. “Can I put ten credits on Perceptor too, Swerve?” 

“Of course you can,” Swerve immediately grinned, even though Perceptor made weak protests. He winced again as he felt another kick, though less sharp than the last one, and he managed not to squeak. He must have made a funny face, though, because Drift was suddenly hovering over him, optics narrowed.

“Alright, you’re coming with me. We’re going to the medbay, right now,” he ordered as he grabbed Perceptor’s elbow. The microscope was half-rising from the stool when he heard something which made him froze and glare.

“Ten credits on the fact we got Sparked up by magic!”

“Who.” the microscope asked frostily. “Who said that?” he glared at the crowd, some of whom gulped uneasily or took a step back. Nobody was stupid enough to answer, though. “Magic,” Perceptor growled, “doesn’t exist! It is a fool concept, a way to handwave something which can be scientifically explained given enough time and a good logical process! “ He shook Drift asides and took a step toward the cowering mechs… well, except Whirl, but Whirl didn’t cower before anyone. It was hard to say since he had no face to speak off, but Drift had the feeling he would have smiled goofily if he had been able to.

“Magic, of all the things,” Perceptor mumbled threateningly before he started to wince as he felt yet another kick. Drift took the opportunity to grab and yank him back before he could start ranting at the unsuspecting onlookers.

“Alright, let’s go see Ratchet. Those kicks are worrisome and I want his advice!”

Perceptor let Drift pull him along. Secretly he was worried as well, but it did not let to show on his faceplates. “Fine, if you think we must. You really should not get yourself riled up, Drift. I’m sure it is nothing.” 

“Nothing?” How is this nothing?” Drift pulled him along into the hall, and marched him towards the medbay. “I’m really worried about you, Percy!” 

“My name is Perceptor.” 

Drift laughed uneasily. “Don’t be like that, Percy. I’m just worried. This whole thing is messed up. Like really messed up. More messed up that normal-kinda-messed-up.” 

“Mmm...perhaps. I’m sure there is really some kind of logical explanation to it all.” 

Drift stopped, and suddenly hugged Perceptor tightly in the middle of the hall no less. “What if there isn’t?” 

“There is. I’m sure of it. You are not acting well yourself, perhaps YOU should see Ratchet.” 

Drift frowned. “I’m perfectly fine,” he waved. “Now come on.” Perceptor frowned but let the matter drop for the moment.

Ratchet sighed as he entered the medbay, rubbing the small of his back with a wince. Great, just great he thought with annoyance as he realized he was now getting back pains from the added mass he was developing. His only consolation was that soon enough, everyone else would have to deal with them as well;

“Everything alright, First Aid?” he asked as the doors closed behind him. He blinked as he saw the younger medic sitting cross-legged on a berth, a blanket wrapped over his frame, looking intently at a datapad in his hands. He hadn’t even looked up at the arrival of the CMO. “Well,” the older mech said wrily, “I guess it is. May I ask you what you find to be so interesting?” he tilted his head, trying to look at the title’s glyphs, and even reached out. First Aid immediately squirmed.

“Ratchet! Ah, uh, sorry, I didn’t heard you.”

“I had noticed,” the mech snorted. “Now can I see…? Ah. ‘A Guide to Emergence’? You’re trying to familiarize yourself with the process, I take?”

The younger mech shuffled uneasily, unfolding his legs and dropping his blanket. “Well, what else can I do? I… I’ve never overseen an emergence before, I don’t know what to do when a Sparkling is about to be born! Sure, I prepared the medbay accordingly following your instructions, but I’m nervous and there are so many mechs on born who are going to have bitlets and now I’m expecting one as well and how am I going to help if I get stuck down by my own emergence and…”

Ratchet raised a hand. “Calm down. You’re doing pretty well so far.” He glanced around at the row of bed the two of them had prepared earlier. They had managed to requisition and prepare fifteen berths with stirrups in the medbay, all of them furnished on the side with towels and bassinets and bowls ready to be filled with water to help clean up the expected Sparklings. Fifteen only… it wasn’t nearly enough, but that was all they could cram in this space. “Do not worry so much. Now we know for sure we’re having Sparklings, despite the… weirdness surrounding their conception and development, we’re already better prepared than we were last solar cycle.”

The younger medic nodded slowly. “I guess. But I can’t help fretting. My first time, you see? When you must have helped dozens of little ones into the world!”

“Ten, actually,” Ratchet corrected.

“It’s still more than I ever did. I’ve n-never even held a sparkling.”

“Aid...it’s going to be okay,” Ratchet said gruffly. “Don’t get yourself all worked up about it. If reading your datapad makes you feel better go for it, and if you want to know more I think I have a couple others in my habsuite.”

First Aid hugged the datapad to his chestplates, “I can borrow them?” 

“Yes, you can borrow them. I will bring them here to you.” 

“Thank you,” First Aid finally mumbled. He would have said more, but craned his neck, “Ah, Ratchet I think we have visitors.” 

Ratchet turned around, browplates raising. “Drift? Perceptor? What is going on?” 

“It’s kicking Perceptor,” Drift said. “Started at Swerves, and hasn’t stopped. Is there something wrong? Is he going to be okay?”

“Really, Drift. I’m fine,” Perceptor said testily. “Stop acting like I’m going to break, Drift. I’m sure this is just---normal. Sparklings kick. It happens.” 

“Not this early,” Drift said, voice high and shrill. “This isn’t normal at all. I’ve seen carrying mechs, and this isn’t right. It’s not right at all.” 

“You are starting to sound like Bluestreak. Desist,” Perceptor snapped.

Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nose. Great; just great. Just what he needed; a well-intentioned Drift and a freaking-out-but-refusing-to-admit-he-was Perceptor. “Perceptor, on the berth,” he snapped. “Drift, you sit in a corner and you shut up.” The white mech started to open his mouth and Ratchet glared. Drift paused, shoulders sagging, before he obeyed meekly.

Perceptor huffed. “I’m perfectly fine, Ratchet,” he insisted, though he did sit on the berth as he had been ordered to; it never paid off to tick off a medic on his home turf. “Unlike what Drift seems to be thinking, I’m not about to give birth!”

“I’m sure you aren’t,” Ratchet commented as he grabbed a scanner. “If you had been in the early process, you wouldn’t have been able to walk; your valve would have already started stretching and special lubricant’s production would have already kicked in. As there isn’t a single sign of wetness under your panel and no fluid gushing down your leg, I can seriously say you’re still emergence free… for now.”

“Then you see there is no point for me to be here,” the microscope noted, trying to rise only for Ratchet to push him back down.

“On the contrary. The fact you’re feeling kick would normally be a good thing in a normal Carrying cycle -- a proof of the Sparkling’s good health overall. But since nothing about our current situation makes sense, I’d like to take a scan nonetheless. If anything, it should allow me to verify the development of your own cycle and help me pinpoint the likely date of emergence. And trust me, we better be braced for it,” he mumbled darkly.

“So there is really a possibility we all get in emergence at the same time?” Drift asked from the corner he had elected to stand in.

“Truthfully, it’s unlikely; some of us seem to develop faster than other, thus allowing for different emergence dates, close but separate. Of course,” he added wrily, “considering our luck, I can be wrong.”

“You aren’t going to let me leave then?” Perceptor asked. “I can assure you that I am quite alright. Nothing at all is wrong, and as you said a kicking sparkling is a sign of a healthy one.” 

“I need you to stay here. I want to monitor you for at least a cycle, and Drift can stay as well. If nothing else he can keep you company. Lay back Perceptor,” Ratchet said.

“I don't see how this is necessary,” Perceptor snapped.

“Just humor me. For science.” 

The microscope leveled Ratchet with a look of pure annoyance before he scooted back onto the medical berth, and swung his legs up. “This is unconscionable.” 

“And yet you are still here. Now hold still and let me scan you, and then we can take samples,” Ratchet said, already beginning the scan as soon as Perceptor stretched out. “Interesting.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Drift said, moving out of the corner and hopping onto one of the other berths. “Does that mean he’s going to have the sparkling now?” 

“I’m not having the sparkling now,” Perceptor snapped. “Stop saying that.” 

“No, you’re not having it now, but I think we will have to rework our schedule,” Ratchet commented airily as he observed the lines of data scrolling on the pad. The look in his optics didn’t bode well and made Perceptor brace himself.

“And what does that mean exactly?”

“Take a look by yourself,” the medic proposed as he angled the scan so the microscope was able to glance at the content. Now, medicine wasn’t Perceptor’s area of expertise, but he knew enough about coding to note what Ratchet had noticed right away.

“That’s not coherent. Based on previous time estimations and tests to determinate a date of emergence, we had at least two decacycles left before reaching that peculiar stage!”

“I know,” Ratchet grunted, obviously unhappy. “I need the samples to fully confirm it, but by all accounts, the gestation process seems to have sped up. I don’t think we have even a decacycle left before emergence is upon us. No wonder you can feel it kicking, and no wonder I have lower back pains. That does change things, and not necessarily for the better. Put your pedes in the stirrup and retract your panel, please.” As the microscope obeyed, Ratchet turned toward First Aid. “Kid, while I’m busy, use the comm system to send a general notice through the ship and remind the first patients their appointment is in a cycle, and that skipping isn’t an option if they know what is good for them.”

“It’s not normal,” Perceptor mumbled. “We should be experiencing more known symptoms if we really were so late in gestation. Nobody reported an increased libido which is generally associated with the frame construction, for example.”

Drift snickered. “As if our dear Co-Captain needed that excuse to try and get laid.”

Perceptor winced when he felt the cold instrument pushed into his valve to take the sample. He offlined his optics. This was humiliating, but he did not complain verbally. It flared momentarily in his field. 

“There we go,” Ratchet said. “You can close your panel.” He crossed the room, and loaded the sample into one of the long line of machines that sat against the wall. He waited for the read out, and frowned as the data slowly loaded onto a datapad. “It is as I feared. It is accelerating. We might not have more than a couple of cycles. The sparkling’s readings ARE good though. Really good.” Ratchet rocked back on his heels, and looked thoughtful. “I’m definitely going to need you to stay overnight, Perceptor. It wouldn't hurt to take more readings. I’ve never seen growth accelerate like this, and I can’t help but worry that it will affect their life cycle as well.” 

Perceptor squirmed on the berth, “I feel overheated.” 

Ratchet stared at him for a moment, “I’m sure you do. You’ve entered the last phase of carrying. As you pointed out, there are other symptoms that crop up as well, and I’m sure that you will begin to experience them soon.” He looked down at Perceptor’s bare valve before the mech remembered he could close it and did so. “Your calipers are already starting to ready themselves; they’re out of their normal alignment already.”

The microscope jerked. “Is that normal?”

“Perfectly so,” Ratchet reassured him. “Your body is making a test-run, if you will. You might not even feel your calipers or your valve lining flex, but it’s frequent. It helps the birth canal get ready for the moment the gestation chamber will ping open and let your body starts the emergence.”

“For some reason, it doesn’t reassure me.”

The medic sighed. “I’m not sure what else I can say to sooth you. It’s not like anything about this situation is normal and frankly, the sooner it’s over, the happier I will.”

“You and the whole crew, Doc,” Drift pipped in.

Far from the medbay, in yet another part of the ship, Megatron was walking slowly toward his quarters, nodding at the few mechs he crossed path with, all of them staring down at his swollen middle with wide optics. To be fair, Megatron was staring right back; he had never been around a Carrying mech before, and now he was on a ship full of them and, even worse, he was Carrying himself. So much for his secret hope it had just been a strange virus overfilling his protoform… Why, just why hadn’t he opted for execution? His life would have been so much easier and less fueled with random craziness!

“Megs! Oh, Megs!”

The grey mech almost cringed as he turned to see Rodimus running toward him with a big, silly grin on his face. Well… running as much as his heavy body allowed the flame-painted mech to. It was more like long, quick steps with a large belly floating over thin legs.

“Rodimus,” he nodded politely. “Is something the matter? Do you require help for something?” The cheeky grin of the Co-Captain made him want to twitch, and he had the feeling he wasn’t going to like what the younger mech was going to sprout.

“Weeeeellll,” he singsonged. “I was thinking perhaps we could scratch a mutual itch.”

… Yes, he was getting suspicious. “Is that so? What sort of ‘itch’ are you referring to exactly?” He had the feeling he knew what the other mech was alluding to when Rodimus pressed against him, their swollen bellies touching.

“I’ve always heard Carrying mechs could beneficiate from some transfluid donations and that they were crazy for it. Care to test the theory?” Rodimus winked.

… Execution was sounding nicer and nicer by now.

He pried off the co-captain, and gently pushed him away, “No, I really don’t.” 

Rodimus pouted, “Oh, come on, Megsy. Please!” 

Megatron was hard-pressed not to roll his optics. He opened his mouth to argue, and then shut it, “You know...whatever. Will it shut you up for a while?”

Rodimus blinked back at him, clearly not prepared for that answer or reaction that Megatron presented to him. “Ah...um...I guess. You...ah...will?” 

“Sure, whatever, why the frag not. It’s not like things could get any stranger than they already are,” Megatron said. He was already starting to feel overheated anyway. Might as well take advantage of the situation and scratch that itch, as Rodimus put it. 

He settled a heavy hand on Rodimus’ shoulder and steered him towards his habitation suite. Rodimus jittered beside him, his armour nearly rattling. “You sure?” Rodimus asked again. 

“Chickening out?” Megatron purred in Rodimus’ audial. 

“What? No! I just. I mean. I didn’t think you would take me seriously.” He looked a little lost, shuffling nervously as Megatron shook his head and pushed him inside his quarters, letting the door close behind them.

“Surprise,” he purred again, giving Rodimus a lick over his audio receptor and making the flame-painted mech shudder. “I’ll be honest, I hadn’t planned to accept, but I don’t have anything better to do and hopefully, it’ll allow me to take my mind off our current problem.” He waved at his belly, then at Rodimus’ own. “I can’t wait to get rid of the extra weight,” he mumbled as he gently steered the Lost Light’s Co-Captain toward the berth.

Rodimus blinked before he started smirking. “Why? Not feeling sexy anymore?” he teased, shaking himself out of Megatron’s gentle hold to stand in a cocky pause, hand on his hip. “Myself, I’m feeling pretty gorgeous.” He moved his hips right and left slowly, winking. “I bet I’d have a lot of success back on Cybertron. Some mechs apparently have this huge kink on interfacing with Carriers, you know. Given I’m naturally handsome, I expect the addition to give me plenty of suitors.”

“Oh? Why aren’t I surprised?” Megatron asked dryly, shaking his head. “Now come along. You want to interface, yes or no?

“Uh, sure! But…” the Prime hesitated. “How do we do it? With our bellies, I mean!” he added quickly, blushing at the idea Megatron might think he was a virgin or something. “It’s not like we can, you know?”

That made Megatron snort. “Do you have so little imagination, oh my Co-Captain? If I lie down and you straddle my spike, then there’ll be no problem. Granted, we will have to be careful anyway and go slowly, but it’s perfectly doable. You can have a long, fun ride that way.”

Rodimus blinked, then pouted. “Aww. You mean I won’t be able to play with your valve?”

“I’m not in the mood for a valve overload… yet.”

“Yet...I see,” Rodimus purred loudly. He put a hand on Megatron’s chest and pushed him down onto the berth. “I always did like a ‘fun ride’.” His lips curled up and he crawled over Megatron’s prone form. “You look delicious, you know?” 

Megatron snorted, “You and your flattery, Rodimus.” He let his panel snap open. “We aren’t here to talk, my co-captain.” 

“No, we aren’t,” Rodimus agreed, and traced a finger around Megatron’s stille-recessed spike. He watched Megatron’s reaction, or lack of one in this case, and fell back to pouting. “You could at least try to look enthusiastic, you know.”

“Hmm, perhaps if you work your magic fingers better, I’ll consider giving you what you seek. Your magic fingers… or your lips,” Megatron smirked.

Rodimus slowly started to grin. “Is that a challenge? Because if it is, you’re going to lose!”

“Less talk, more fragging,” the grey mech teased, crossing his arms behind his head and installing himself more comfortably on the berth, a playful smile on his lips as Rodimus used both hands over his interface array. He frowned briefly as he felt something… shift in his gestation chamber. Hum. Obviously, the Sparkling had grown enough that he could feel it move or kick. The thought almost made him light-headed. A Creator. Him. Primus must have had a strange sense of humor.

Then again… he might have also been totally unconscious, he mused as he watched the determined Rodimus work over his slowly pressurizing spike. A mini-Rodimus… He wasn’t sure the universe was ready for it.

“I hadn’t realized how big you had gotten,” Rodimus mused suddenly. “You’re sure we can do it without risk?”

Megatron frowned. “You’re the one who offered, did you not? And I’m perfectly fine; besides, yours isn’t much smaller. So get on with the show, Captain; I’m waiting?”

Rodimus saluted.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ultra… Minimus? May I speak with you?” The Tyrest Enforcer paused mid-step and glanced over his shoulder at the lithe form of Rung, who was peering at him worriedly. Well, lithe… except for his protruding belly. Rung was among the ones with the hugest, most distended abdomen, and Magnus did a double take. It almost looked as if it had gotten bigger since he last saw the other mech at the reunion.

“Yes, doctor? What do you wish?”

“To talk. It’s obvious you aren’t fine.”

Ultra Magnus stiffened, “I am fine. I don’t know why you would get the idea otherwise.” 

Rung stood up straighter, “I don’t think you are. You are rarely out of the armour, Minimus. It is not healthy to do so. I know you are not comfortable out of it, but it would be better for you and the sparkling.” 

“You’re wrong. I’m safer in here,” Ultra Magnus said before he could stop himself.

“It is not though. It compresses your gestation chamber. I asked Ratchet about it. It’s not healthy for either of you. Please come out of it. Please. I’m really worried about you, Minimus,” Rung pleaded.

“I’m fine.” 

“Think of the sparkling,” Rung said, and reached out taking Ultra’s hand in his own.

“I’m trying not to,” Ultra Magnus said, and stiffened as the words tumbled out. 

“You're scared but it’s okay. We are all scared,” Rung said. “Please. Please. You can’t be comfortable in there.” 

“I’m not comfortable out of it. I waddle when I walk.” 

Rung blinked. “Well… so do we, somewhat. I’m sure it’s not so bad…”

“Not so bad?” the other mech asked in disbelief. “I wouldn’t trust myself to walk without the armour. And you’re right, I’m scared, but I have good reasons for that. I’m not supposed to have… Sparklings, Rung.”

“Everyone says that but…”

“No, you don’t understand; I CAN’T. I had my gestation chamber removed before I accepted the role of Ultra Magnus,” the other mech explained, shaking his head. “Tyrest made it part of the deal in order to become the Enforcer of the Accord. A Carrying cycle, as rare as it is, would have revealed the secret and we couldn’t afford it, so… the chamber had to go.”

Rung stared. “I… see,” he murmured. “It must have been awful, to be forced to…?”

“Actually, it wasn’t,” Ultra Magnus sighed as he let himself lean against the wall. “I had never truly intended to have Sparklings, so getting rid of part of my reproduction system didn’t affect me the slightest. I never regretted my decision. What scares me, Rung, is how a part that was removed vorns ago seem to have regrown overnight and got… self-filled, for a lack of better term.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “You know, I almost bought Rodimus’ crazy theory he was somewhat responsible for Sparking up everyone. Primus knows what happens between us behind closed doors and…” He paused, blushing as he realized he was sharing more than what he had intended to. He coughed to mask his trouble. “Anyway, Ratchet confirms he found no transfluid samples in the chambers, so we can cross a natural conception. It’s just as well. I have nightmare fluxes when I think about a ship full of miniatures Rodimus.”

Rung had a brief laugh. “He’s not so bad.”

“No, I guess not. But dozens of little Rodimus everywhere…” Both mechs paused and shuddered.

“Are you sure you won’t consider getting out of the armour? Even for a little while?” Rung asked again.

The Enforcer of Tyrest Accord sighed. “Let me show you something.” The armor started to click apart and separate, just enough to leave Minimus Ambus’ body exposed, but his limbs still in control of the Magnus’ suit more powerful ones. Rung blinked and stared.

“Oh. My. I… I hadn’t realized. When you said you waddled…” he swallowed. “It… looks like there’s more than one, no?”

“Yes there is more than one. Ratchet said twins. They are...growing fast. I wasn’t built for this, never mind that I’m not supposed to be able to even have any.”

Rung stepped forward, and put a hand on Minimus’ middle before he even thought about it. The sparklings inside stirred, making the plating beneath his hand shift. “Oh. They are active.” 

“All the time,” Minimus said wearily. “I’m barely getting any recharge. They move around most during the night cycle. Sometimes it feels like they think my insides are a punching bag.” 

“Have you talked to Ratchet about it?” 

“I did. The minute they started moving and shifting around. He says all the readings came back good. I have two healthy sparklings in my gestation tank, and I only have a few cycles until they emerge. I’m not going to lie. I’m terrified. I’m not prepared for this. This is not something I ever thought possible, and I just don’t want it.” 

Rung flinched at his stark reply. “Minimus...” 

“Don’t worry. I will do what is necessary. It is not their fault. I don’t even know whose fault this is. I almost wish I COULD blame Rodimus. Knowing would be better. But I don’t.” 

Rung ducked his helm, nodding, “I’m sorry, Minimus. I don’t even know what to say to that. You know if you need any help, anything I’m more than willing.” 

“I know. Thank you. I just don’t know how anyone could help me with this,” Minimus said. 

“Nonetheless, I’m here if you ever need to talk,” Rung murmured, putting a hand over Minimus’ shoulder in comfort. “The moment they start moving is almost breath-taking, isn’t it?”

Minimus blinked. “Oh; yours…?” Rung nodded with a wry smile.

“A little after the reunion. I think it might be recharging, because it’s not very lively, but I definitely felt him turn around a few times.” He stroked his abdomen in slow circles. “I admit I’m terrified as well. Not about the emergence itself, mind you, but about what will come after. We don’t have much furnitures onboard for Sparklings, nor specialized energon that they’re supposed to be drinking. I’m not even sure we have Sparkling bottles to feed them!”

“And… that’s the only thing that bother you?” Minimus blinked. “You don’t wonder how, or who, or…?”

“Well, of course I do, but it’s not like I can do anything about it,” Rung explained, taking off his glasses briefly to clean them. “I’m too busy reassuring terrified mechs or calming down roused tempers to have the time to wonder how it happened or whom I have to stop Whirl from punching. Same thing with Sunstreaker,” he added as an afterthought.

“Speaking of, I don’t remember seeing him at the reunion earlier?” Minimus frowned.

“Not surprising. He stayed behind to keep an optic on Bob.”

“Oh, right. The Insecticon too was caught in the madness,” the Enforcer realized, smacking his forehead. “How is he?”

“He is...very agitated,” Rung said, “And very gravid. Sunstreaker is going to have his hands full soon. In all honestly I cannot blame him in being in a temper right now. Insecticons are prone to large litters.” 

Minimus stared at him, horrified. “How large are we talking about?” 

“Anywhere from two to ten buglets from my understanding. Normally anywhere. I have heard of them having more, but it’s much less common. Sunstreaker is in a bit of a...tizzy about it, and Bob made a horrible mess making his nest.” The psychologist sighed. “It is a mess and I am more than a little worried about him. For all that Sunstreaker acts tough, he is very...fragile. His break with Sideswipe...” 

“That is too bad. I guess...I guess there is others that are worse off than I am,” Minimus finally said. He flinched when he felt the twins shifting about again. “It’s still hard for me,” he mumbled. 

“I know,” Rung said. “We are all here for each other though. That must count for something?”

“I suppose so… especially in the event of a possible Insecticons swarm.” Minimus’ smile didn’t reach his optics, but it was better than nothing and Rung allowed himself a laugh.

“And do not forget a cybercat’s litter or two,” he joked. Funnily enough, Minimus made a grimace and Rung laughed harder.

At least there was still some amusement to be found, and hopefully there still would be in the forthcoming future.

******

“Uh, Ratchet? Do you think you could come to my and Cyclonus’ room?”

Ratchet paused as he recognized Tailgate’s voice over the comm system. He refrained from sighing; Tailgate was pinging him almost once per cycles those days, his nervousness growing as quickly as his belly. “What is wrong, Tailgate? Did you feel it kick again? I told you already, it’s perfectly normal, you’re not about to go in labor, your tests show clearly you have a few solar cycles left…

“I’m, uh, not calling for myself, but for Cyclonus,” the Minibot whimpered, and Ratchet frowned.

“Can’t he call himself?”

“Uh, I don’t think he can right now, Ratchet.”

Alarms blared under the medic’s CPU. “Alright, what’s the problem?”

“Well… you know how Cyclonus doesn’t let me do much those days? And how he tend to help me get on the berth by lifting me up and carrying me? Well, I think he broke something because he made that very ugly grimace and then he went to lie down and now he’s lying on his back with his panel open and there is fluid bursting out and he’s making grunts and he said to call you because he won’t be able to get to the medbay and uh, I think he said the little one has decided now was the time?” the Minibot said meekly.

Ratchet stared at nothing for a moment before he swore. Grabbing his tools and barking at First Aid to grab a bassinet, blankets and everything they’d need to clean the Sparkling, he started to swear in various languages. Cyclonus had just given the kick-off, and he had the feeling he was going to be very busy for the foreseeable future.

“I’ll be right there,” he said over the comm, and hurried with First Aid trailing behind him to Cyclonus’ habsuit. The door slid open as soon as he pinged it, revealing a visibly fretting Tailgate. The minibot wrung his hands together in distress. 

“He sounds like he’s in a lot of pain,” Tailgate squeaked. “Horrible pain. Can you make it any better, please?” 

“I’m fine,” Cyclonus gritted out from the berth.

It was a mess, the fluid gathered in a puddle under Cyclonus’ aft. Ratchet assessed the situation for a second before checking Cyclonus’ level of dilation. “Get the blankets over here, First Aid. Can you lift up a little bit, Cyclonus?” 

Cyclonus winced, but lifted up. Ratchet wiped away the wetness and slid a clean blanket underneath him. 

“You’re doing good. It shouldn’t be long,” Ratchet said. “You’re at eighty -percent dilation. You should be entering the final stages, We don’t want to tire you out though. The sparkling is not far enough into the canal yet. So we are going to have to wait and be calm. Okay.” 

“I am fine,” Cyclonus bit out.

“You don’t sound fine,” Tailgate whispered.

A contraction rippled through Cyclonus’ frame leaving him shouting inarticulately. 

“Doing good,” Ratchet said. “There should be another one right about...now. Push.” 

Cyclonus groaned, doing as he was ordered, his body racked with trembles. “Eighty… eighty percents dilatation already?” he panted. “It’s not p… possible. I haven’t been… labor hasn’t started for ahhhhh! For long enough!”

“Well, say that to the Sparkling,” Ratchet snarled as he knelt at the end of the berth to peer closely at the purple’s mech stretched valve. “Eighty-five percents, and the Sparkling has dropped farther in the canal. Now, Cyclonus, listen to me. You’re going to breath in slowly, yes, like that,” he encouraged. “First Aid, give me a wet towel,” he ordered his helper, who handed him the towel without a word, optic band wide. Ratchet started to gently wipe down the fluids staining Cyclonus’ thighs and the outer folds of his valve.

“You’re doing great, Cyclonus,” Ratchet murmured. “Very great. Given the way your calipers are stretching the next contraction is for soon, and then they’re going to pick up in speed. Count with me: one… two… three… four… now! Push!”

Tailgate whimpered as Cyclonus bellowed in pain, pushing. “Are all emergences like that?” he asked First Aid, tugging on the red and white’s mech hand.

“I think there is normally a way to turn off the pain receptors so it doesn’t hurt, but I think Cyclonus’ is too far along the process to do it by now. It’s going much faster than a normal emergence… at least I think so,” the younger medic shuffled. “I’ve only learned about emergences in medical datapads.”

“It’s better than me. I didn’t even know it existed before I started to get round and fat.”

First Aid stared, frowning behind his mask, “I could see how that could be alarming, and...I can also see why they phased this out making way for...cleaner ways to reproduce.” 

“You are doing good,” Ratchet said, “He is crowning. It should just be a couple more good pushes.” 

Cyclonus glared at him from the berth, his optics dimming to smouldering crimson. 

Tailgate shrunk in on himself, “I don’t want to do this. Can’t it just stay in? I don’t mind being round. I was already kinda.” 

“MMmm....I don’t think so, Tailgate,” First Aid said. “That isn’t how it works.” 

“Pretty sure this isn’t how anything is supposed to work!” Tailgate exclaimed. 

Cyclonus gave another shout, this one long and drawn out and when it ended there was a shriller cry that did not come from the purple mech. 

First Aid hurried over, grabbing one of the towels and helping wipe the sparkling down. “It came out so fast!” he couldn’t help but exclaim.

“And I’m glad he did,” Cyclonus grunted as remaining fluids from his gestation chamber continued to escape his valve. “So, what is it?” He yelped as Ratchet gave him a swat over the helm and he glared.

“Be more polite about your Sparkling!”

“It’s a mechling,” First Aid announced cheerily as he finished cleaning and wiping down the wailing ball of armor and small parts. He blinked, though, as he took in the appearance of said mechling. “Uh, Ratchet?” he asked warily. “I think you should get a look, because… I’m not sure Sparklings are supposed to look like that?”

Ratchet glanced over his shoulders as he was gently finishing to wipe out the fluids seeping between his patient's legs and felt his jaw drop. “Alright,” he finally managed to say. “I admit, I didn’t do that many emergences, but you’re right, Sparklings aren’t supposed to look so much like their Carrier!”

Tailgate tilted his head. “Aww, he’s adorable! He’s a mini-Cyclonus! Can I hold him? For once I could carry Cyclonus and not the reverse!”

And the Sparkling was. It was, of course, small and round and pudgy, but it was indeed a mini-Cyclonus. The same purple color, though perhaps a shade paler, tiny horns which promised to grow into long ones like its’ Carrier, the same tiny purple optics, the same thin face,... Simply put, it looked more like a clone than a normal Sparkling, Ratchet couldn’t help but think briefly.

“Can I hold him?” Tailgate asked again. “Please.” 

“Let Tailgate hold him,” Cyclonus finally said, and watched as the minibot was handed the little bundle. 

Tailgate rocked the little mechling, cooing at him enthusiastically. He exclaimed loudly of the little nubby horns, and his pretty purple colour. The little mech seemed completely enamoured. 

“He’s so adorable,” Tailgate enthused.

“He looks just like me,” Cyclonus said, looking shocked. 

“Isn’t it great?” Tailgate said. “So adorable. Look how cute his little horns are, Cyclonus! They are so tiny!” 

“Well...” Ratchet said. “As much as I hate to interrupt we should get you into the medbay as a precaution.” 

“I would rather stay here,” Cyclonus said. “I’m sure the medbay will be crowded soon.” 

As if on cue, the general comm system crackled and Hoist’s panicked voice was heard shipwide. “RATCHET!!!! GET YOUR AFT IN THE MEDBAY NOW!!!!! MEGATRON JUST DRAGGED IN MINIMUS, HE’S IN EMERGENCE!!!!!! NOT ONLY HIM, BUT WAVERIDER AND JOYRIDE AND RUNG ARE ALL…” There was a sound in the background, the medbay door opening, and Hoist’s voice decreased in volume. “Sunstreaker?” they could hear him say in surprise. “Oh no, don’t tell me you… Oh. OH! Oh nonononono! I’m not dealing with it on top of…” Sunstreaker snarled something, and they could almost hear Hoist wince. “Please, just please, can’t Bob just go have his larvaes or eggs or buglets or whatever it is they have somewhere else?”

Sunstreaker’s answer was clearly heard by all and it was less than polite. Not only that, but it also was downright threatening and made a few mechs do a double take as they pondered the physical possibility. Tailgate blinked innocently.

“Is that possible?”

“Well… I suppose that if someone is very, very bendy…” First Aid muttered while, in another part of the ship, Whirl hooted with laughter.

“Oooh, nice one, Shiny! I’ll reuse that!”

Hoist whimpered loudly over the comm system. “Alright, alright, set him in that corner and…” He paused, vents audibly itching. “Oh frag,” he moaned. “RATCHET!!!!! I’M LOSING LUBRICANT!!!! FOR PRIMUS’ SAKE, GET YOUR AFT IN THE MEDBAY NOW!!! I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH THAT!!!!

Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at Cyclonus. “You had to say it, didn’t you?” he hissed venomously. The purple warrior at least had the decency to look chastised as First Aid handed him the wailing Sparkling wrapped in a fresh towel. Surprisingly, the little one stopped crying once settled in the arms of his bigger copy, blinking and sniffling. Tailgate cooed at the sight before pausing and blinking.

“Uh, Ratchet?” he asked feebly.

The red and white mech twisted at the spot of fluids seeping through the seams around Tailgate’s interface array.

“Of course,” he groaned, facepalming. “You just had to join the fun now as well. First Aid! You’re in charge! I need to go back to the patients in the medbay!”

“Me? But…”

“You saw how it happened with Cyclonus, I trust you can do it with Tailgate! I need to go!” the older mech raged as he headed out. The three mechs and one Sparkling watched him go blinking, Tailgate making little pained gasp as he started to feel his calipers stretch in preparation while the Sparkling shifted in the gestation chamber, putting himself in position.

“Uh… I wonder who won the betting pool?”

“Does it matter?” Cyclonus asked, and watched as First Aid guided Tailgate over to the other berth. The medic spread out a sheet before Tailgate laid back, and gave him a shot in his main energon line. 

Tailgate made a squeaking noise, “I feel funny.” 

“You are going to be fine,” Cyclonus said. He looked down at the sparkling in his arms thoughtfully. “I have never seen a sparkling look so much like its creator. It is as if he was created using only my CNA. Do you think they are clones?” 

“I don’t know,” First Aid said. “I don’t think this is the time to be discussing this.” His attention was focused on Tailgate. “Wow. This is happening really fast. I can already see the sparkling’s helm crowning.” 

“It feels funny,” Tailgate mumbled. “Really weird. Like bad weird, and uncomfy. I don’t think I like this. Is it gonna be over soon?” 

“What did you give him? He sounds...overcharged.” Cyclonus looked at them from across the room, a frown deepening on his faceplates. The way he looked at the young medic was vaguely accusatory and First Aid raised his hands in defense.

“It’s just a mild painkiller! Perfectly inoffensive! Though I suppose it might have been a little too strong for Tailgate’s systems,” he confessed reluctantly. “His readings are all shot to the Pit thank to the emergence, I may have accidentally given him too much.”

“First Aid…” Cyclonus started to growl, optics shining, making the medic mentally wonder just how resistant the purple warrior was; few mechs were so lively after emergence, at least according to his handbook. He blinked as he noticed the purple Sparkling, which he was mentally dubbing ‘Mini-Cyclonus’, was also frowning at him. At least he looked like he was frowning at him; he was surprisingly expressive for a little thing barely a few kliks old.

“It feels really, really uncomfy,” Tailgate continued to mumble as he stared at the ceiling. “I don’t think I like that at all, Cyclonus,” he whined.

“I reassure you, few peoples actually enjoy emergences,” the horned mech said dryly, and First Aid took the occasion to break off optic contact and go back to check on the process.

“Oh dear, it’s already well-engaged! Tailgate, do you feel the contractions at all?” he asked worriedly.

“Oh, that’s the funny ripples I’m feeling?” the tiny ‘bot asked in a light voice. “I feel them… I think.”

First Aid groaned. “Alright, alright. When you feel the next one coming, you must push, okay? They seem to be very close together, so it shouldn’t take long before the next one hit,” he mumbled as he grabbed a pair of clean towels.

“Oh! Oh! I feel it this time. It feels weird. I don’t like this as at all.” 

“Push,” First Aid said, more sharply than he intended. “Push!”

Tailgate pushed as hard as he could, and the little sparkling finally slid free into First Aid’s waiting hands. It yowled loudly, which settled into little whimpers as First Aid cleaned him off. 

“He’s so tiny,” First Aid said when the sparkling was finally dry. He handed him over to Tailgate once he was swaddled in a blanket. The minibot’s optics brightened, and he held the sparkling stiffly. 

“W-what do I do with him?” Tailgate murmured. 

“Just hold him for now,” Cyclonus said. “I’m sure they will need to refuel soon, but not yet. Let him feel your field and get used to you.” 

Tailgate’s optics dimmed, “You sound like you know what you are talking about.” The purple warrior just grunted and ducked his head.

“I’ve been around new Carriers before,” he said stiffly before his optics zeroed on Tailgate’s bornling and he tilted his head to the side. “Hmm. Well, the clones theory might hold a grain of truth, judging by the looks of your… son.”

Tailgate and First Aid looked down at the Sparkling who had stopped fussing and was now eagerly rubbing his tiny cheek against Tailgate’s plating. It was… a Mini-Tailgate. No point in denying it. The newborn looked exactly like its parent, down to the visor and the ‘waste disposal’ inscription. It was even freakier than Mini-Cyclonus, in some way, because Mini-Cyclonus at least had two whole horns to help telling him apart from his Carrier.

Speaking of said Mini-Cyclonus...

First Aid had to take a double take. “Uh, is that me or is he… glaring at us?” And he was, First Aid realized. The tiny bornling was glaring or at least looking at them with distrust. Well, not all of them; he was eyeing Tailgate and Mini-Tailgate with obvious fascination and perhaps a weird, tiny twinge of approval.

Uh.

Cyclonus lifted his miniature version to look at him in the optics. For one so young, the bornling was very adept at feigning boredom. “Why do I get the feeling they’re going to be the source of unfathomable processor aches?” He raised an optic ridge when he heard the Mini-Tailgate coo and glanced at him, blinking when he saw the tiny Sparkling wave at Mini-Cyclonus happily.

“Aw, aren’t they adorable?” Tailgate chirped, absolutely not concerned with how lively and intelligent and just… similar to their adult selves the two Sparklings were. Cyclonus tried not to groan.

“Yes… adorable.”

“They are, both of them. I will...bring you both some sparkling grade energon shortly. In the meantime. I think I should probably check in on the medbay. Please comm me if either of you need anything,” First Aid said. 

“We will be fine,” Cyclonus said. “Go to the medbay. I will keep an optic on Tailgate.” 

“Why would you need to keep an optic on me? I’m fine,” Tailgate squeaked. The little copy of him made a squeak himself, his little optic brightened. 

“Sure you are,” Cyclonus said. “Go on, First Aid.” 

First Aid nodded, and was out the door without another word. He hurried down the hallway to the medbay...and was greeted by chaos. “Ratchet? Where are you?” 

All of the berther were taken up, along with nearly every free space. They weren’t prepared for this. They weren’t prepared at all! He whimpered, shoulders sagging in defeat. That was a nightmare!

“First Aid, don’t just stand here and help me out!” he heard his mentor snap, and sure enough Ratchet was there, wiping clean a… Mini-Drift? First Aid blinked and did a double take. Yup. A mini-Drift whose Carrier was disengaging his pedes from the stirrups at the end of the berth he was installed on, a look of deep exhaustion on his face.

“R… right!” the younger medic snapped at attention. “What must I do?”

“Bring more towels to start, and update the lists on the computer! We need to cross out all those who have already birthed their Sparklings. I had asked Perceptor to run calculations to try and pinpoint when the rest of the crew will enter labor and I want you to check if they match. If so, then we are going to have a lull of a solar cycle or two before we’re overcome by the next wave of births,” the older medic snapped as he wrapped the infant he was holding and put him in his Carrier’s arms before immediately moving to the next berth, where a panting Nautica was in the middle of her own emergence process. Funnily enough, the femme had a big grin on her face despite the pain she obviously felt.

“Just wait until Firestar learns about it! She’s going to be so jealous!” she gasped, almost laughing, and First Aid shook his head slowly. Okay. That was it. The femme had gone off the deep end. Her motherboard was broken. She had a few circuits crossed.

Then he blinked and did a double take as he noticed Hound on the floor between two berths, standing on his hands and knees in a makeshift nest of blanket. “Uh, Ratchet?” he asked weakly, optics twitching.

“Do not worry about him,” the medic grunted after glancing at what had First Aid to dumbstruck. “He’s trying to imitate I don’t know which organic species. So long he doesn’t ask for anything, leave him alone and go seek the blankets and towels! Oh, and watch where you step; if you accidentally crush one of Bob’s Sparklings limb by walking on it, YOU deal with Sunstreaker and the angry bug, okay?”

“Wh…?” First Aid started to ask before he turned around and his gaze fell on Bob… and his own… makeshift nest of blankets… and the four identical buglets chirping and crawling over their brand new Carrier’s frame.”

“Dear Primus!”

“Let Primus where he is and get those fragging blankets!” Ratchet howled.

First Aid shook his helm and carefully navigated through the medbay and to the storage room. He gathered up as many blankets as he could carry, brought them back, and made two more trips doing the same before gathering up the discarded pile of blankets and throwing them into the sanitizer. 

Ratchet had already dug into the blanket, clearing off the newly vacated beds. “I need you to move those that have had their sparklings over to the waiting area, and once we have a reprieve we can give them a once over and send them on their way.” 

First Aid nodded, and gave a mental sigh. Some were easy to relocate, like Drift. Others were not so much… like Bob and Sunstreaker. It was not unlike herding cyber cats. Very noisy cyber cats with already sharp claws and mandibles and already mobile enough to slip everywhere, including under the berths, forcing First Aid to kneel down and try to grab them. Try being the key word, as Bob hissed whenever he tried to touch one. The new Carrier seemed to be very protective, if the way he puffed was of any indication. And he had nothing on Sunstreaker, with his narrowed optics and fierce scowl. First Aid would have whimpered in fright hadn’t he been so harried already.

Thankfully, the buglets seemed to calm down by themselves and run back to their Carrier and Sunstreaker soon enough, climbing over Bob’s back or rubbing themselves at the yellow mech’s legs, one of them sitting on his aft and looking up with adoring optics at Sunstreaker’s miniature copy.

Mini-Sunny, as First Aid mentally dubbed him, looked at the buglets with false disinterest, happily snuggling in his Carrier’s arms. It was however obvious he was preening from the attention all the buglets ended up turning toward him. Which, in turn, triggered another frantic run from the baby Insecticons through the Medbay as they seemed to search for something, only to turn back to Bob with sad coos.

“Is that me or…?” First Aid asked, glancing between the little Insecticons and the Sparkling-sized Mini-Sunstreaker. Was it him, or were Bob’s offsprings disappointed to have a single Sunny to play with when there were four of them?

First Aid shook his helm. “I need you guys to move to the waiting area,” he said.

Sunstreaker scowled at him, “Fine.” He whistled for Bob, and the insecticon trotted after him, followed by the buglets. “You just had to ask.” 

“Sorry,” First Aid sighed. “I would have if I knew they would just follow you out.” He watched them move to the waiting area along with the other mechs who had already made it through emergence. The room was crowded, but the medbay was worse. Hound was still on the floor, in the last stages of emergence. Ratchet was working on Nautica, who was still crowing loudly. 

“Need any more help?” First Aid asked. 

Ratchet waved him over to the other patients on the berths to the side, “Check on them and see how Hoist is doing.” He glared at Nautica. “And would you stop crowing like that? It’s starting to get old.”

“But Ratchet, I always wanted a Sparkliiiiing!” the femme gasped, tensing as she went through a contraction. First Aid quickly looked away and started to check all berths individually, dispensing encouragements to those he could before passing to the next patient.

On the whole, everyone seemed to do well, almost everyone having been dosed with painkillers to smooth the process. It didn’t avoid the freak outs of a couple of Carriers-in-the-making as they felt their valve stretch or saw the fluids gush out, but First Aid thought they were lucky so far. Nobody was experiencing complications, not even Minimus, the last one he checked, though he was definitely grunting and panting as the second Sparkling was sliding down the birth canal. The first twin was already born and nestled against its Carrier. First Aid tilted his head to the side.

“Wow. I didn’t think you had mustaches even as a Sparkling, Minimus.”

“Please, don’t mention it,” Minimus grumbled before crying out as a new contraction hit him -- he hadn’t been able to take painkillers before the process started, unlike the others patients. And neither did Hoist, judging by the noises he was making as First Aid neared his berth.

“How are you doing, Hoist?” 

“How does it look like I’m doing?” Hoist groaned, and let out a long whimper as a contraction rippled through his frame. “Never been through something this painful.” 

First Aid nodded, and moved between his legs to check his progress. “It shouldn't be long. You are fully dilated.”

“Hurts. Hurts so bad.” 

“I’m sure it does,” First Aid murmured. “There I can see his helm. Just a few more good pushes and he will be out, and then you can rest.” 

“Any problems with the other patients?” Hoist asked, panting. His plating was covered in condensation. 

“No. None yet. Thank Primus,” First Aid murmured. “Okay. Give me a good push.” Hoist grunted but obeyed, making sharp sounds of pain as the Sparkling forced its way out.

Funny it had lasted so long for him when Cyclonus and Tailgate’s own labor had been over in a matter of kliks. Then again, perhaps there were other factors playing in he didn’t know about. Let’s see, hadn’t Hoist been one of the mechs who was still Sealed? Perhaps the tearing of the seal from the inside had played on the length of the emergence? Hmm, he’d have to mention it to Ratchet and check out with other patients...

The Sparkling dropped in First Aid’s waiting hands the next moment and he smiled behind his mask as he started to clean it, the little one wriggling and wailing. Another mini-copy, of course. “There he is, Hoist,” he murmured as he handed his son to the new Carrier.

“Primus,” the other medic muttered, receiving the wrapped mechling with shaking arms. “I can’t believe I did it.”

“I think many people on board are telling themselves the same thing, and their number is going to increase soon enough.”

“Speaking off, are you well?” Hoist asked worriedly, eyeing First Aid speculatively. The red and white mech patted his belly softly.

“Do not worry about me; according to the calculations we run, I should be one of the last ones going through the process. Or at least, I hope so,” he mumbled after a beat of silence. Shaking his head, he looked over the medbay, still full of patients, some of which had just came in and were guided to the free berths by whoever had accompanied them. Nautica was crowing happily as she hugged her newborn Sparkling.

“See, I told you it’d be a femme!”

First Aid sighed. “In the meanwhile, I think I’m going to get busy.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Sooooo,” Rodimus drawled as he made his Sparkling bounce on his lap, “Ratchet? Status report, please. Has everyone given birth yet?”

"We have a few scragglers. First Aid, Swerve, Whirl, and a servoful of others." Ratchet vented loudly. "We've been fortunate. No complications so far. If things go as we projected the last group should go into emergence in two sols. Possibly sooner."

Rodimus cooed at the miniature version of himself. "Good. Glad to hear we are making progress."

"Progress...right. Perceptor is working on mass producing bottles, and I have been working on churning out enough sparkling energon to get us by." Ratchet paused, raised an optic ridge. “Rodimus? Are you even listening to me?”

“Who’s the cutest Sparkling ever? Yes you are, yes you are!” Rodimus cooed and tickled his Sparkling’s belly, who thrilled with laugher before cuddling happily in his Carrier’s arms. The Mini-Rodimus gave Ratchet a swarmy, charming smile, making the medic blink.

“Mini-clones,” he muttered, shaking his helm and looking down at his own Sparkling. His… miniature version was looking at Mini-Rodimus in a most unimpressed way, making Ratchet raise an optic ridge. It was… slightly creepy, the way his miniature version seemed to behave exactly like him, thus lending more and more credibility to the clones theory. Not that Rodimus seemed to care either way; their Co-Captain was totally enamoured with his miniature version.

“Rodimus?” he tried again.

“Hmm?” the flame-colored mech hummed as he bounced the Sparkling again.

“Nevermind,” Ratchet sighed. “As I said, we’re working on stocking enough sparkling-grade energon for everyone, but the production isn’t going as fast as I’d like. Thankfully, Ravage, Steeljaw and Bob all seem to have their own way to feed their… youngs, so it’s a couple less mouths to feed.”

“Is that true what I heard? About Ravage coming out of the vent carrying bitlets by the scruff bar?” Rodimus asked with mirth. Ratchet cracked a smile.

“Yes it is, though I admit we were more taken aback by the fact he had three Sparklings than by the fact he was handling them by the neck like true Cyberkittens. Personally, I was more amazed by his series of nozzles covered by rubber teats. I hadn’t know Steeljaw and him were so closely related to the various felinoids species of Cybertron. I had always thought the shell was just that, a shell.”

Rodimus giggled, obviously amused by the mental image of a grumpy Ravage lying in a nest of blankets with three cyberkittens suckling from his feeding lines. “And Bob got the same thing?”

“Not teats, though he has a form of feeding lines as well,” Ratchet confirmed as he shifted his scowling Sparkling in his arms.

“You would think we would have something like that,” Rodimus said thoughtfully. “I mean, at one time everyone had and used their reproductive systems....before Vector Sigma and the whole allspark thing. Right? That would be kind of weird, don’t you think? Wouldn't it be weird?” Rodimus said and cuddled his mini-version. “Or maybe kinda hot, I mean can you imagine Drift?” 

Ratchet opened his mouth to reply, but shut it with a snap. He didn’t even know what to say to that. “Right.” 

“Well, it would be,” Rodimus’ engine revved startling the sparkling. 

“Yeah, that is...kinda inappropriate, Rodimus. Don’t say things like that in front of the sparklings,” Ratchet said. 

Rodimus shrugged, “Well...whatever.” 

Ratchet’s optics narrowed, “No it isn’t ‘whatever’. I don’t want minimite here picking up on stuff like that.” 

“They need names,” Rodimus said completely ignoring Ratchet’s point. “I might call you Rodimus Junior; how would you like that, baby?” he cooed happily. The Sparkling giggled as Ratchet stared with disbelief.

“That’s it, you officially lost it and I’m going to ask Megatron to take the full captaincy,” the medic warned. In his arms, his miniature copy scowled, looking at the adult Rodimus with a very unimpressed expression. “You too, eh?” the medic asked, only to see the unimpressed look directed at him. “Don’t you look at me like that, kid,” he warned.

Rodimus just bursted into laughter. “Like father, like son,” he singsonged. “You two are adorable, you know that? Aren’t you cute, Clank?”

Ratchet twitched. “Clank?”

“Well, unless you want me to call him Mini-Ratch,” the Co-Captain shrugged. “And I don’t know, Ratchet and Clank got a sound to it…”

“And you’re getting distracted again, Rodimus! Focus! We’re having a serious problem, in case you haven’t noticed!”

“What problem exactly?” Rodimus waved, his Sparkling bouncing on his lap. “Almost everyone delivered a healthy Sparkling already, asides from the stragglers who should enter labor today or tomorrow at the latest. You’re producing Sparkling-grade energon and, granted, the production isn’t optimal yet, but it should resolve itself soon. Same thing for the bottles to feed them. They all have a bassinet or a blankets nest to recharge until we can come up with true Sparkling-adapted recharge berths. I heard the ones who got multiple Sparklings worked on way to differentiate them, what’s with Sunstreaker painting different glyphs on Bob’s buglets and... “ he grinned. “I heard Nautica suggest ribbons for Ravage and Steeljaw’s?”

The medic groaned. “Please, don’t remind me.” He knew the femme had suggested it innocently enough, but the thought of cyberkitten-sized Cassettes running around with colored bows to tell them apart was threatening his sanity.

“Anyway,” the flame-painted mech continued, “we’re going to get through, one way or another. My main concern is where to find enough toys to occupy a shipful of tiny mechlings, but never fear, I put Brainstorm on the case.”

Ratchet startled. “I’m sorry, you did what?!”

“I put Brainstorm on the case,” Rodimus repeated. “He has a lot of good ideas.” 

“For blowing them up? Frag. You would have been better to go back to Cybertron and get Wheeljack.” 

Rodimus laughed, “Have a little faith. I’m sure he will come up with something brilliant. He’s a smartbot. Besides, he has incentive. he has his own little mini-me.” 

“That is not reassuring in the least,” Ratchet scowled, and the little mechlet he was holding did the same. 

“Bad! Bad!” The little mechlet chirped, startling both Rodimus and Ratchet. “BAD!” 

Ratchet blinked down at the mech in his arms, optics going wide. “What?” 

“Badbadbadbadbad!” The mechlet shook his little fist at Rodimus.

“Uh. I didn’t know they knew how to talk at this age?” the Co-Captain blinked, looking down at his own Sparkling. Rodimus Junior looked up at him sleepily, too busy sucking on his thumb to comment before he snuggled deeper in his Carrier’s arms.

“That’s because they’re not supposed to!” Ratchet snapped at the flame-colored mech before he stared down at his own miniature copy -- whom he refused to call Clank, thank you very much. The Sparkling stared right back with the most serious expression Ratchet had ever seen on such a little being.

“Bad,” the mini-Ratchet repeated sententiously, pointing a digit at Rodimus.

Was it bad he was cracking a smile? “Yes, little one, Rodimus has done something very, very bad. Rodimus is an idiot. Can you say ‘idiot’?” he cooed encouragingly, glancing at Rodimus who made a ‘hey’ of protest.

“Idiot,” Mini-Ratchet nodded eagerly. “Idiotidiotidiotidiot!”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to teach the Sparklings bad words?” the Prime groused.

“Oh, but I’m not teaching him bad words, I’m teaching him to tell the truth,” Ratchet countered with satisfaction. “Thanks to you, I’m going to have to add ‘checking up on Brainstorm and make sure he’s not about to blow the ship’ to my already long list of things to do, which I could have done without. So yes, you’re an idiot.”

“But it’s just toys…”

“And it’s BRAINSTORM! What are you going to do next? Propose Megatron do storytelling to entertain the kids?”

The Prime actually whistled. “Uh, funny you would mention it…”

“You are not serious,” Ratchet deadpanned. 

“They really seem to have taken to him. Even little Roddy likes to be held by him. Sheesh. It’s not like he would hurt them. I mean. maybe an adult mech. But not a little sparkling.” 

“Rodimus...”

“He really does do well with them,” Rodimus said and hugged his own sparkling tightly. “You need to loosen up, Ratchet. Worrying all the time like you are can’t be good for you at all.” 

Ratchet just stared at him, unable to find the words for once. 

“Idiotiodiotidiot! Badbadbadbadbad!” The mini-Ratchet burst out like a chorus.

“I couldn't have said it better.” Smart little thing. A smile tugged at Ratchet’s lips. At least his mini-copy had sense, which apparently cruelly lacked to Rodimus.

The Co-Captain pouted, wounded. “Why can’t anyone recognize I’m a genius and can have good ideas?”

“Probably because they’re too busy staring at your stupidity and making a list of all your bad decisions,” Ratchet snapped as his mini-copy started to wriggle in his arms. “Hey, would you stay still?” he groused.

“Silence! Silence! Sleepy!” the mini-Ratchet chirped, pointing at the Sparkling in Rodimus arms. The two adults blinked. Sure enough, Rodimus Junior -- Primus, Ratchet hoped it was just a joke; he refused to put that name down on the kid’s medical files! -- was fast asleep, thumb still in his mouth, the perfect image of innocence. “No wakey patient,” the white and red Sparkling nodded, satisfied.

“... Ooookay,” Rodimus breathed, staring. “I admit, you were right. We have a serious problem here.” He looked down at his mini-copy with a peculiar expression. “Uh… you’re sure they’re not going to grow over night and kill us in our recharge cycle and take our place, right?”

“You’ve been watching movies with Bluestreak at Swerve’s, didn’t you?” the medic asked suspiciously.

“Maybe just one or two,” Rodimus said in a sheepish voice. 

Ratchet’s mini version snuggled against him, patting his arm. “No hurt. Love, ‘Ree.” He craned his helm up, and looked at Ratchet. “Love, ‘Ree. ‘Ree love Wrench?” 

“What?” Ratchet asked, “I’m mean...yes. I love you too...Wrench.” 

The grumpy look melted off of the sparkling’s faceplates for a moment, replaced by a look of pure adoration. It made Ratchet’s spark do a curious flip-flop under his chestplates. “So...that is the name you want?” 

The little sparkling, Wrench, nodded. “Patient name?” He asked, and pointed to the sleeping sparkling in Rodimus’ arms. 

“We don't know yet,” Ratchet said slowly, and met Rodimus’ gaze. 

“Soon?” Wrench asked. 

“Probably,” Ratchet nodded. “You’re a very chatty little thing, are you not?” he murmured, lifting the Sparkling up to look at him in the optics. “Curious. Very curious. Mini-Roddy here never said a word. Hmm…”

“You think your copy is, what, precocious?” Rodimus asked as he shifted the recharging Sparkling in his arms.

“Perhaps,” Ratchet murmured dubiously. “Maybe he hit a development stage earlier than others? Unless my normal CPU speed affected his development? As a medic, I’m forced to run my processors at high power in emergencies, and come to think, I’ve been working on emergency protocols since the whole mess started.”

“Well, only one way to make sure. Let’s try and make one of the others speak!”

“What a bright idea,” the medic said sarcastically. “And how do you propose to do it?”

“How about I present them an energon-lollipop and only give it to them is they say a word?” the Prime proposed.

Ratchet stared long and hard in disbelief. “The worse thing with you, Rodimus, is that I never know when you’re serious and when you’re jesting. And I truly hope for your af… for your skid plate you’re joking,” he warned, correcting himself before he swore. If his ‘son’ was already so articulate, the last thing he needed was an insult collections to repeat.

“Well,” Rodimus said, “What do you propose then?” 

“Well, we can have their processors scanned. If would tells us at what developmental stage they are at,” Ratchet said. “It would be the most scientific way to go about it.” 

“You take the fun out of everything,” Rodimus huffed. He looked down at his mini-version and sighed. “Do you think they are okay? I mean? They aren’t going to age at some weird accelerated rate or something? Are they? I’m pretty attached already.” 

“Yeah well so am I,” Ratchet said. 

“‘Tached?” Wrench asked. “W’is ‘tached?” 

“I love you,” Ratchet said. “That is what attached means. I love you, bitty.” The Sparkling beamed happily and snuggles against the older mech. The medic patted the little helm with a soft smile.

“They really grow on you, don’t they?” he hummed. “But to answer your question, no, I don’t think they’ll grow at the accelerate rate their gestation did. If it was the case, then I expect they’d be growing faster already. Their mental development, on the other end…” he murmured. “It’s harder to measure, but we can work it out. Somewhat.”

His comm system crackled. “Ratchet?” Hoist called out hesitantly, the soft coos of his own Sparkling heard undertone. “Whirl just delivered his Sparkling and, uh… it’s a little weird, and I think you should totally come in like, now?”

The medic immediately tensed. “Hoist? What’s the matter? Was there any complications?!”

“Complications, no. It’s just… well, you should come in and see by yourself.” There were coos in the background, and Ratchet realized it was Whirl’s voice he was hearing. “Oooh, boy,” Hoist muttered. “Seriously, you need to see that.”

“Alright, I’m coming. Ratchet out,” he muttered before closing the comm. “I got to go. And you, Rodimus, you better countermand the order you gave Brainstorm -- or have Perceptor and half the science team check out everything he did before it comes in a ten meters radius of any Sparkling on board,” he glared.

“Rodimus waved a hand at him, “Fine sure. I’ll talk to Percy.” 

“You make sure you do that,” Ratchet said and hurried, off. Wrench looked around, craning his helm as the went. 

“Where we go?”

“We are going back to the medbay, Wrench,” Ratchet said, and picked up his pace. He was practically running when they finally got to the medbay doors. They slid away revealing a crowd gathered around the nearest berth. 

“What is going on?” he snapped loud enough to make Wrench startle. 

The crowd parted and Wrench let out a little gasp, “Pretties.” 

Whirl crowed, “He is! Isn’t he? Look at this perfect little guy!” His optic flashed happily. “Who’s Daddy’s little clockmaker? Yes you are, yes you are!”

Ratchet stared long and hard at the Sparkling wrapped in a blanket resting fast asleep in Whirl’s arms. The blue mech gently grabbed an edge in his pinchers to move it so it could cover the little frame better, but the medic still had a good look at the perfectly formed, five-digits attached hands of the Sparkling. More than that, there was also the face. The Sparkling had an actual faceplate! None of Whirl’s Empurata signs showed on him.

“How?” he asked hoarsely, optics focused on the recharging, faintly smiling face.

“Well, I had sorta hoped you’d answer that, Doc,” Whirl chirped. “‘Cause I was fully expecting a Mini-me, Mini-me, you see? But the tyke is a looker, just like I was. Wasn’t I adorable?” he cooed, and the crowd shuffled.

“You bet I’d have jumped him back then,” someone muttered in the back, only to yelp as someone more sensitive obviously kicked him for being a careless, sparkless idiot.

“I… I need to run more tests,” Ratchet muttered, sitting Wrench on a medical berth he had taken the precaution to put barriers around and rubbing his optics with his palms, feeling a processor ache coming.

“Sure you do, Doc,” Whirl chirped again, “but just to be clear, you touch a single one of his fingers and I’m going to shove that big, bad, huge-looking laser Perceptor has in his lab up your…”

“Fine. I get it. I---I’m going to need a CNA sample, and before you get all worked up over that I can take it from oral solvent. Just let me get a swab. It’s not going to do anything to him. You can even take it for me. And I need some scans of the both of you.” 

Whirl’s single optic narrowed, “Fine. But you aren’t poking and prodding at him. He isn't going to go through what I had to. I mean it. I really will shove---” 

“Fine. I get it. Fra---” he stopped, his helm craning back to where Wrench was watching him. 

“Help?” The sparkling asked hopefully. “Wrench help ‘Ree? Test Pretty?”

“No Wrench. You need to stay there.” 

“No! No! Help Pretty!” Wrench began to sniffle and the sniffle turned into a full fledged wail. This, in turn, only served to triggers more wails from the few Sparklings present in the medbay with their Carriers as they answered to Wrench’s distress in their own way.

“Oh Primus, make them stop!” Getaway groaned, putting his hands over his audio receptors by reflex, dropping his mini-copy on the ground. The Sparkling blinked, surprised, before he started sniffing and then burst out into a full wail.

The smartest mechs backed off or straight out run away from the medbay with their own wailing offsprings, mumbling excuses, thus decreasing the noise. Shoulders sagging, Ratchet picked up Wrench and started to rock him in his arms to calm him down.

“I told you ‘no’, Wrench,” he said sternly, Spark beating fast. “Now stop crying, I’m not going to change my mind. You stay quiet and perhaps Whirl will let you play with… ‘Pretty’ if you’re nice.”

Wrench sniffled, his lower lip quivering. “No! No! Bad ‘Ree! Take care of Pretty. Wrench take care of Pretty now!”

Whirl snickered, “Do you want to sit up here with me little mech? Close to Pretty?” 

“Don’t encourage him,” Ratchet growled. “He needs to learn to behave.” 

Whirl cackled, but not loud enough to wake the sparkling in his arms. “Don’t act like you got a stick up your aft. Just let the kid sit up here.” 

“Language!” Ratchet snapped. “Last think I need is for him to start picking up words like that.”

“Good luck with that, Hatchet,” Whirl snickered. 

Ratchet growled again, and set Wrench on the berth beside Whirl. “Just watch him and I will get the testing equipment.” 

“Pretty’s ‘Ree?” Wrench asked, and pointed up at Whirl. 

“Oh yes, I am.” Whirl’s optic brightened with amusement. 

Ratchet’s miniature version looked at Whirl up and down, a frown on his little face, as if judging Whirl’s worth as a Carrier for ‘Pretty’. Whirl couldn’t help but guffaw loudly at the sight. “Oh mech, you make a crazily cute babu, Ratchet!” he called out, frame shaking with laughter as Wrench gave him a pat.

Well, judging from the look on his face, it was probably supposed to be a hit, but it registered as a pat on the adult mech. “No laugh at ‘Ree!” the Sparkling snapped in a very cute imitation of his Carrier that had a few bystanders snicker audibly.

“You should listen to the kid,” Ratchet growled as he came back with a tray charged with medical equipment. “He might be too little to make threats and work on it, but I AM big enough to actually shove something inside you and make it painful,” he warned.

“Weren’t you the one who asked we watch our language around the kids’ audio receptors?” the blue mech asked innocently, single optic narrowed in good fun. The Sparkling in his arms started to fuss, getting all his attention back as he cooed happily at him. “Is my little clockmaker awake?”

‘Pretty’ chirped sleepily, cheek burrowed in the blanket he was wrapped in. Wrench tilted his head and made a chirp of his own, perhaps his own version of a ‘hi’, as he crawled forward on his hands and knees to get a better look.

Whirl’s sparkling chirped at him again, louder this time. His hands reached out until Wrench was close enough to pat them. 

“Hi, Pretty.” He wiggled closer snuggling against the smaller sparkling and chirring at him. 

Whirl watched them both in amusement, “Wow. Think I’m gonna die from the cuteness.” 

Ratchet snorted, and handed Whirl a swab, “Get the sample, please.” 

“Yeah, sure, Doc.” He rolled his single optic, and carefully stuck the swab in his sparkling’s mouth which made the little thing fuss. 

Wrench cooed at him, and soon enough the intrusion was forgotten. “Who was a very brave Sparkling? Who was a very brave Sparkling?” Whirl cooed as he bounced ‘Pretty’ on his lap. The Sparkling giggled while Wrench sat back, satisfied as he was given the ‘very important task’ to hand Ratchet the swab by a content Whirl. “You were! And who is the brave Sparkling who merit an energon lollipop?”

“And where do you expect to find an energon lollipop on that ship?” Ratchet asked as he nodded amiably at Wrench and received the swab. “Because if you expect me to give in one, you can wait for a long time; I don’t have any.

Whirl stiffened. “What kind of doctor are you, not to have lollies for babies?”

The medic’s answer was dry and sarcastic. “The kind who was, until recently, was serving on a ship without Sparklings onboard.”

“See how mean the doctor is?” Whirl confided ‘Pretty’, who just blinked in confusion. “But don’t you worry, Carrier is going to find you a lolly. I’m sure someone on the ship must have some, and I swear I’ll go on a holy quest to find you one. Hmm, perhaps I should raid Cyclonus and Tailgate’s room?”

“I’m not putting you back together if Cyclonus decides to kick your a… behind,” Ratchet warned as he put the swab under a handy scanner.

“Or perhaps I should give Eyebrows a call,” the other mech said as if he hadn’t heard. “I’m sure he’s a NICE doctor, unlike grumpy here.” He paused. “Even if Mini-Grumpy is so adorable he could give me dental plates cavities.”

“Wrench! Wrench not grumpy!” Wrench announced, and crossed his little arms leveling Whirl with a scowl that would make Ratchet proud. “Wrench.” 

Whirl sniggered, “Wow, even fragging adorable when he does that. Amazing.” 

“WHIRL! I said watch you language!” 

“Frag?” Wrench asked, helpfully. 

“No! Do not say that,” Ratchet said, and leveled Whirl with a glare. 

Whirl snickered and continued to rock his sparkling, “Well...what does the test say?” 

“Give me a few kliks, for Primus sake.” Ratchet fought down the twinge of annoyance he felt as he watched the scanner at work. The data were quickly transmitted, thankfully, but their full analysis could require time. Still, from the looks of it…

“So far, everything is normal,” he announced the expectant Whirl. “The coding is an exact match to yours, down to your some of your most charming personality algorithms.” Whirl preened, obviously deaf to the sarcasm dripping from the medic’s voice. “I don’t know why he’s not… well, you know what I mean. Perhaps because Empurata doesn’t register with whatever happened to start the creation of the bitlets, or perhaps there was a glitch somewhere. Anyway, as far as I can judge, he’s in perfect health, and if you could let me test his mobility and reflexes…”

Whirl snarled, pinchers clicking warningly, and Ratchet sighed. “Right. Forget I said anything.”

“How come mine isn’t talking?” the blue mech asked, unique optic looking down at the tiny face smiling up at him.

“No idea. As far as I know, Wrench here is the only one who can, and I don’t know why yet.”

“Wrench smarts,” sparkling said, and preened. “Smartest.” 

Whirl laughed, “And modest too. What a cutie.” 

Wrench petted Whirl’s claw, “Cutie too.” 

Whirl snickered, his optic brightening with glee, “Did you hear that, Ratchet.” 

“Oh, yes, I did.” He shook his helm. “Back to the matter at hand...the empurata does not seem to be coding deep.” He sighed in relief. “This is… good news. And something I should have foreseen, really. If empurata altered the coding itself, then it would be impossible to give someone new hands or a new face -- which we can,” he added quickly, mindful of not making Whirl go on a angry rant or, worse, a violent outburst. “Anyway, there shouldn’t be any problem with your… son.”

“He won’t lose his hands then?” Whirl inquired, tense. “Or his cute little face?”

“Of course not, Whirl,” Ratchet reassured him. His lips quirked. “Or should I start calling you ‘cutie’ now?”

“Aww, Ratchet, you say the nicest things,” the blue mech snickered. “Isn’t your ‘Ree a charmer, little tyke?” he cooed at Wrench, who was sitting on his knees next to him and poking at ‘Pretty’ with a little frown.

“‘Ree good,” he nodded in agreement. “Wa’as Pretty name?” 

“What’s his name? Well, hadn’t really thought of that,” Whirl said. He looked down at the little mech in his arms. “It needs to be something good. Something fitting.” 

Wrench nodded, hanging on every word. “Best name. Best name for pretty.” 

Ratchet rolled his optics, “Well I will leave you two to it while I check the other patients.” He paused, a strange look in his optics. “Hum. If I leave Wrench with you so he can become better acquainted with ‘Pretty’, is there any chance I’ll get him back in one piece? No, nevermind, don’t answer that,” he quickly added, reaching out for Wrench.

The Sparkling blinked in surprise as he was suddenly lifted up, just waving at ‘Pretty’ and Whirl as he was carried away. “Bye!” he chirped. “Be good patients!”

Ratchet gave him a look. “Wrench, you see that mech? His name is Whirl. Whirl is a very, very bad patient. He’s even worse than Rodimus. Remember Rodimus? The idiot mech from before?” Wrench nodded seriously. “Well, Whirl is worse. Never expect Whirl to be a good patient, okay?”

Wrench looked over Ratchet’s shoulder with narrowed optics. “Bad ‘Ree?”

“Hmm, that remains to be seen,” Ratchet grunted. “Let’s see a good patient, alright? Like… Rung? What are you doing here?” he asked the psy, who was quietly sitting on a medical berth, his own bornling in his arms. The little orange ‘bot was fussing as he played with a… piece of string?

“Hello Ratchet,” Rung nodded amiably. “I hope I’m not coming at a wrong time, but I wanted to give the little one a visual check up.” He rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. “It’s probably nothing, but given how bad my vision is without the corrective lenses of my glasses, I’m worried I have transmitted my faulty coding to the Sparkling. So far, he has show no sign of visual impairment, but I’m not familiar enough with Sparklings systems to know if it will evolve or not.”

Ratchet nodded, “Nothing wrong with that. If we catch it early enough we can take measures to correct it so that he would not need the lenses. Would it be okay if I checked his coding?” He sat Wrench down on the end of the berth, leaving the sparkling watching the exchange.

Rung nodded, “Please. I’m just...I’m very worried. I want to give him the best start possible, the one I did not get.” He gently opened the little one’s medical port, letting Ratchet jack into his systems. 

“Hmmm...yes. I see the coding, but it will be easy enough to correct. Would you like to correct the error in the coding?” 

Rung quivered, “Please. Please do. I---I don't’ want Spock to have to have the issues that I had.” 

Ratchet blinked. “Spock?” He looked at the fussing Sparkling with a raised optic ridge. “Did he tell you his name or did you…?”

“Oh, he’s not speaking yet,” Rung said quickly. “But I couldn’t bring myself to just call him ‘he’ or ‘you’ or, well, ‘Mini-me’ like some of the others are doing.” He was frowning in obvious distaste. “I tried to find him a good name, but I didn’t seem to have a hang on it. ‘Spock’ was actually suggested by Swerve; he was most enthusiastic about helping me work through a list of names, and he assured me ‘Spock’ was a very revered name on Earth.”

“Did he now?” Ratchet asked dryly.

Rung nodded. “I’m not too sure what to think of it, but the little one seemed to like it, so… ” He shrugged. “I’m a little more worried about this gesture Swerve taught him to do with his servos. See? I don’t understand why he spread his fingers this way; Swerve assured me it was a formal greeting, but it doesn’t appear in any database I known of!”

Ratchet tried not to groan. “Swerve, I swear I will…!” he swore under his breath before his shoulders sagged in defeat. Spock. Well, it could have been worse.

“Is something wrong, Ratchet?” 

“No, nothing at all. Everything is fine,” the medic said. “Spock is a fine name, and I’m sure he will grow into it.” 

“I hope so,” Rung beamed. “He...is such a good sparkling. He’s not fussy. I just worry. I worry a lot Ratchet. I don’t want him to have to...to deal with what I did. I-I’m sure he inherited my alt-form as well.” 

Ratchet stared at him for a moment, a frown slowly creeping onto his faceplates, “The functionalists are gone, Rung.” 

“I know,” he said. He touched the little one’s helm. “I did not pass on the best CNA.” 

“And that worries you?” Ratchet asked in disbelief. “Rung, excuse me to be blunt, but have you actually looked at this ship’s crew and how many nutcases are on board?! Pit, as the official psychiatrist, you should be well acquainted with most if not all of them! Let’s give a few names: Whirl, MEGATRON, Rodimus Freaking Prime! Next to them, you’re positively normal and sound of mind, so don’t dare tell me you wouldn’t do a good Carrier!”

“Rat…”

“A bad Carrier wouldn’t have brought in his Sparkling already worried sick he had transmitted his bad coding,” Ratchet stressed out, optics narrowed. “Trust me, Rung, so far, you’re probably the most responsible new Carrier I saw onboard!”

“Even if my choice of name doesn’t convince you?” the orange mech asked dryly, hugging the little frame of his mini-copy against him.

The medic paused. “Well… I’ve heard worse. You know Rodimus is seriously calling his Bornling Rodimus Junior?” he confided.

That made Rung take out his glasses and blink rapidly for a few kliks as he digested the information. “... Oh dear. Perhaps I should go talk with him? If I can spare five minutes between my various appointments. Everyone seem to have decided now was a good time to finally come knocking at my office. I can’t understand why,” he added sarcastically.

“Mmm...yes. Well...I think it has been a stressful time for all of us, but good things will come of this. I hope,” Ratchet said, “I hope.” He sounded uncharacteristically optimistic even to his own audials. 

“Other Pretty?” Wrench asked, interrupting them, and crawled across the medical berth inching towards Rung. “Patient?” He asked looking to Ratchet. 

“Yes. He’s a good patient,” Ratchet said. 

“Good ‘Ree?” He inched over, and sat down on Rungs lap, and leaned in to get a better look at Spock. 

“Yes, he is,” Ratchet said. “A very good Carrier and a very good patient. Wrench, This is Rung. And the bitlet is Spock.”

“Hi patient, hi Sprok,” Wrench nodded seriously, making Rung blink.

“My, what an adorable and polite Sparkling! Very pleased to meet you, Wrench. But actually, bitlet, it’s ‘Spock’, not ‘Sprok’,” the psychiatrist corrected Wrench, who frowned.

“Spook,” the mini-Ratchet repeated, making Rung’s shoulders sag. Spock, however, seemed utterly curious and amused by the presence of the other Sparkling, to whom he was nodding happily in greeting, emitting soft little clicks.

“I hadn’t thought his speech pattern was so well-developed already. Have other Sparklings showed signs of being able to talk yet?”

“If they did, nobody reported them yet,” Ratchet mumbled as he connected a few wires to Spock’s helm, the orange Sparkling frowning and fussing unhappily as he tried to tug on the cables to take them off. “Ah, ah, none of that little one; they need to stay in if I want to implant the corrective program.”

“What ‘Ree do?” Wrench asked imperiously, obviously wary.

“I’m trying to help Spock see better, bitlet. Truth to be told, Rung,” he added for the psychiatrist, “I’m unsure if they will take completely. Sure, this is a simple procedure and Sparklings codes are more malleable and easier to tweak than adults ones, but since he’s basically your copy…”

“Even if it doesn’t work fully, the possibility he could do without such an heavy visual correction would be wonderful. Do not worry, Ratchet. Do your best.”

"I will, Rung. I can promise you that. I will do everything I can. I just worry that it not be enough," Ratchet said.

"At least you are willing to try."

"Spork sicks?" Wrench asked. He reached out, patting Spock's helm gently. "Other Pretty nice. Tiny."

"No, he is not sick, Wrench," Ratchet said. He reached out for the Sparkling and tickled him behind his chevron, smirking a little when Wrench purred. Well, there went further proof the bitlet was a clone, sort-of; Ratchet’s own chevron was sensitive as well, though nowhere near as sensitive as his hands. Wrench leaned into his touch happily, though he was still letting a hand rest over Spock’s helm. In turn, Spock was busy poking at the white and red Sparkling with a puzzled expression, as if he didn’t understand who or what Wrench was.

Wrench wrinkled up hus brow and gave Ratchet a doubtful look.“Spock isn’t sick,” he repeated for his mini-copy’s benefit and understanding. “He has a…” he paused, wondering how to phrase it for a Sparkling processor. True, Wrench seemed to understand most of what he said, but… “He has something that could give his optics an owie,” he finished lamely. “So I’m going to give him new codes to try and correct his owns before they give him the owie, okay.”

He was certain someone had snickered behind him, among the patients waiting for their turn, and Primus may watch over their Spark if he turned and saw who it was!

Thankfully, Wrench seemed to have gathered what he meant, despite the overly simplistic vocabulary, because he nodded seriously. “‘Ree fix,” he said simply to Ratchet, before repeating the same thing while looking at Spock; The orange Sparkling chirped curiously in turn, and Wrench frowned. “Him baby; him doesn’t understand,” he whined.

“Well, he’ll understand later,” Ratchet comforted his son. He turned his attention the the little mech, moving through the bornlings coding until he found the lines he was looking to, and carefully began to edit them. It was slow going. He turned out the world around him, and concentrated fixing what was wrong with the little sparkling before him. In his peripheral he could feel Rung’s worried field, and Wrench’s curious one. 

Wrench pet Spock’s plating, and clicked at him worriedly as Ratchet worked on the little mech’s coding. It was nearly a half joor later when Ratchet finally unjacked. “Well, I think that this might be a good fix. The patch seems stable, in any case. We will need to check his vision in a few sols to see how well the coding is taking.”

“Should I just bring him back then?” Rung asked. 

“It might be best if you leave him for observation,” Ratchet said. “There should be no complications, but I would like him to be in the medbay already if there is.”

“Very well. In that case, I trust you won’t mind if I set myself a berth in the corner?” Rung asked, head tilted to the side as he bounced Spock, who had started to get fussy again now Ratchet had unplugged from his systems. Visibly, the presence of the new patch and the effect it was having on his systems was bothering him.

“Now the ‘Baby Boom’ is over with? No,” Ratchet asked dryly. “I’m going to ask…” He paused, frowning. “Has anyone seen First Aid today?”

Nightbeat, who was occupying the next berth and was patiently waiting for a chance to speak with Ratchet and have him examine his own Sparkling, coughed. “Last I’ve heard, he was heading down to Swerve’s because our resident barmecha had felt contractions. I don’t think anyone here heard or saw him since. You don’t think…?” he half-asked.

“That he went on emergence right after he was done? I wouldn’t be surprised,” the red and white mech sighed. “Just what I needed!”

“Just sit tight. If you need anything Hoist will be here momentarily,” Ratchet said. He headed towards the door, pinging First Aid as he went. There was no reply on the other end of the comm, which was worrying. 

::Swerve? Where are you?:: 

::In my hab suite, Oh! Primus Ratchet! Please hurry up over here. I think First Aid is having his sparkling too, and I was afraid to leave him, something doesn’t seem right. Not right at all. Please! I’m a metallurgist, not a doctor. I’m not meant to help with stuff like this.::

::I’m on my way. Just keep him calm.:: Ratchet sighed again, vents heaving. It would figure. They had been the last scragglers. Ratchet hurried through the hall, and down the elevator to the level Swerve’s hab suite was on. He punched in the code, and was greeted with First Aide sprawled on the floor, howling. 

“RATCHET! Help!” First Aid whimpered, a pool of gestational fluid soaked the floor around him, and Swerve, sat holding his own bornling looking utterly helpless. Cursing, the older medic knelt by First Aid’s side, medical protocols in full swing as he started to run diagnoses over diagnoses.

“Slag, slag, slag, slag, slag,” he cursed louder. “First Aid, was there anything weird regarding your own scans and tests during the gestation?”

“Noooo… nooone I’d haave… AH!... noticed!” the younger mech whimpered. “Ratchet, what’s wrong with me?”

“You’re in emergence, kid. For more than one Sparkling,” the medic answered flatly. “Slag, I knew we relied too much on Spark-reading to guess what was going on! Readings certainly didn’t show Ravage, Steeljaw and Bob were going to have multiples, and look at them now!” Gently, he started to push and nudge First Aid in a comfortable position. “Remind me to tear Starscream’s wings off the next time we stop by Cybertron. I’m certain the whole ‘Enigma of Combination’ thing is responsible for that one.”

First Aid keened. “Oooh. Oh dear… Aaaaah! How I… How am I… going to explain that to the others?”

“No idea, and don’t think about it yet,” Ratchet warned. “I can see a helm already, so you better continue pushing!”

First Aid clenched his fist, “It HURTS!” 

“I know it hurts,” Ratchet said, “But think of the sparklings. Don’t you want to hold them in your arms? Swerve, get me some towels and blankets. Now. I need something to clean First Aid up and the bornlings.”

“B-but what will I recharge with?” Swerve whined.

Ratchet glared at him, “Really? We will get you replacements. Hurry the frag up.” 

The minibot whined, but left and came back with an armful of blankets. “I want new ones. Clean new ones.” 

“Fine, whatever,” Ratchet said, waving Swerve off. “I need you to push again, First Aid. Good, good. Almost there.” The bornling slid out into Ratchet’s waiting hands. He was small. Nearly half the size of Wrench. Well… That partly explained why, despite the readings, they hadn’t suspected anything was off about First Aid’s own Carrying cycle. His belly had appeared slightly more swollen than most, but then again, so had had a few other expectant Carriers, and they had all delivered a single Sparkling. If all the future bitlets were this size…

Shaking his head, he deftly cleaned the Sparkling in his hands before putting it aside in a makeshift nest of covers. “Swerve, you watch him,” he ordered.

“Aw, but I got my own to…”

“I’ll check on yours as soon as I’m finished here!” Ratchet snapped, making the two born Sparklings startle and start crying. “Oh great,” he muttered, wincing. “You calm them down. And you, First Aid, continue pushing, the second one is well on its way!”

“Ea… easier said than done!” First Aid gasped, legs shaking as he cried out and threw his head back. The second Sparklings dropped expectantly in the older medic’s hands. “How… how many more to go?” he whined softly as he felt his valve ripple as another bitlet started its way down the emergence canal.

“Do I look like I know?” Ratchet retorted, though he looked chastised when First Aid’s mask retracted and he saw the younger mech’s lower lip tremble. “Think. How many of you were caught in that mess with Starscream?”

“Well… me, Groove, Streetwise, aaah, Hot Spot, Blades… and Rook. Mustn’t forget Rook.”

“Primus… well, if the looks of the first two are anything to go by?” Ratchet mumbled as he glanced at the two mechlings in the nest of blankets. They shared a strong resemblance with two of the aforementioned mechs. “You can probably expect three… no, four more.”

“F-four m-more? I-I can’t h-have four more,” First Aide cried out. “I-I can’t do this.” 

“You can, and you will. It’s going to be okay,” Ratchet said. “It’s going quickly now. The next one is nearly out, I can see him crowning. Push. Good. You can do this.” 

“No I can’t. It hurt. It hurts so much.” 

“Can’t you give him something,” Swerve asked. “He gave me something. It made the pain kinda melt away.” 

“Because he caught you soon enough in the process for painkillers to be efficient,” Ratchet glanced over his shoulder at the worried and visibly grossed-out Minibot. “Sadly, even if I give him anything now, the process is so well-engaged by now and so quick it won’t affect him before it’s over.”

“Oh…”

“What you could do, though, is taking that energon cube and that curly straw you hide under your berth -- yes, Swerve, I know about your ‘secret’ reserve, don’t bother denying -- and let him have a few sips.”

“Can he swallow?” Swerve asked as he let his own mini-copy in the covers nest with the others and fumbled around for the cube.

“Not well, but he should be able to, and he needs the extra energy anyway,” the old medic waved. “There he is, First Aid,” he cooed encouragingly at the younger mech as the Sparkling helm’s got out, soon followed by the shoulders. Ratchet started to clean him, raising an optic ridge at the unexpected design. “Hmm, I’m not familiar with his looks. I suppose he must be Rook’s.”

“You… never had him as a patient?” First Aid panted before Swerve handed him the straw. He managed to suck in three mouthfuls before the contractions made him cringe in pain and he cried out, forgetting the idea to refuel even slightly for now.

“Contrary to common belief, kid, I didn’t stick my hands in every Autobots’ gears in order to repair them,” Ratchet groused. “I’m not omnipotent. If Rook saw any action, it wasn’t anywhere near I was stationed at and treating casualties.”

First Aid panted, his helm rolling back. His optics brightened until the glowed white with pain. “It hurts. It hurts. Worse than the others.” 

“Shhh....calm down,” Ratchet said. He felt around First Aid’s abdominal plating, and frowned. “I think he might be turned wrong.” 

First Aid whimpered, “Are you sure?” 

“Just relax, I will see if I can move him.” Internally, he was ranting against Primus and Starscream and the whole Equation of Combination and doing some very creative threats he didn’t dare to utter aloud, less he would be worrying the other medic. First Aid panicking was the last thing they needed in that very moment. Gently, he started to place his hands over the younger medic’s frame, mumbling an excuse or two as First Aid winced and blushed.

“Ra… Ratchet, please, make it stop hurting!” he begged helplessly as Ratchet probed and… did what he had to do.

“It’s alright, First Aid. He’s turning, he’s going to go down soon. Once he’s out, there’ll be two more and then it’ll be over. You’re doing very well. You’re a very, very brave mech,” he praised.

“And I’m not?” Swerve pouted. “He wasn’t exactly easy to push out, you know,” he said as he poked at his Sparkling, who was currently in the middle of a cuddle pile made by First Aid’s three bornlings.

“You birthed a single one; First Aid is on his fourth and counting!” Ratchet snapped.

“How come they don’t resemble him but other mechs anyway? We all had mini-us, so how come he doesn’t?” He tilted his head. “That one looks like Streetwise, and the other is totally Blades!”

“His ‘mini-him’ isn’t out yet. As for why he’s popping up that many…” Ratchet paused. “You’re aware of what went down on Cybertron with Starscream, I trust? Let’s just say that the Equation he used to combine various mechs together left traces. Specifically, dim but still present Spark bonds or pieces belonging to the other members of the Combiner. Somewhat, whatever happened to Spark us up without using, ah, the traditional ways seem to have recognized the Spark pieces still imprinted in First Aid and ‘copied’ them as well as his own Spark. Satisfied with the explanation?”

“Not at all, but I suppose I won’t get a better one,” the Minibot confessed, backing off at Ratchet’s glare.

“There, First Aid. He’s crowning. Now, give me a last, long push and… yes! There he is!”

The newest sparkling was indeed bigger than the preceding ones, and let out a great wail when it was free. 

Ratchet cleaned the bornling off carefully, and noted how much it looked like Hot Spot. It cried and carried on until it was finally placed with its siblings. It clicked at them, fretting until it was snuggled up against them. 

“I’m so tired, Ratchet,” First Aid said. His optics fluttered shut. 

“No, Aid. you can’t rest yet. You are nearly there. Just two more. You can do this.” 

Another contraction rolled through his frame but he laid there, listless. 

Ratchet frowned, “Swerve. I need you to go to the medbay and tell Hoist I need a portable berth and an energon drip.” 

“But Ratch…”

“NOW!!” the medic barked, and the Minibot jumped to his feet and ran off as fast as he could. Which, given he had gone through emergence barely a megacycle ago, was quite a performance. He had even forgotten his son behind. Thankfully, snuggled as he was by the other Sparklings, who seemed to have adopted him despite obviously ‘feeling’ he wasn’t their sibling, Mini-Swerve was dosing off happily.

Sighing, Ratchet took First Aid’s hand in his in a comforting gesture. “It’s alright, Aid. It’s alright…”

“I’m so tired. Can’t I just recharge? Please, Ratchet.” 

“No, no you can’t. Stay with me, Aid. You are almost done,” Ratchet said. He grabbed the cube of energon that Swerve had abandoned and pressed the straw to First Aid’s lips. “Please drink.” 

First Aid took a small sip. His optics flickered and he let out a little whimper. 

“What is your energon level at?” Ratchet asked. 

“Fifteen percent. No--Twelve.” 

Ratchet cursed softly, “I need you to drink more. Come on, just a few mouthfuls. Swerve is going to be back soon, with the rest of the team on his heels.” He pressed the straw more firmly and forced First Aid to drink more. The sips were small and irregular, but Ratchet was pleased by how much the younger mech managed to take in before he had a new contraction.

“They’re coming farther apart and less violently,” Ratchet noted. “This is a good sign; it seems your body is recognizing your state of exhaustion and is reacting accordingly.”

“‘s good?” First Aid muttered softly.

“Yes, it is. The birth process is slowing down to give you a chance to recover. It can happen when…” He was interrupted by the noise of a portable berth being rolled down the hall. Hoist poked his head inside the room, looking grim.

“Everything is alright here? Swerve babbled something about First Aid multiplying and...” He blinked as he took sight of the nest and the five Sparklings inside -- Mini-Swerve almost disappearing in the cuddle pile, then looked back and forth between it and First Aid’s exhausted form. “Slag,” he cursed as he came in swiftly with the bag of medical grade energon and the IV, “how is he?”

“Weak, and in dire need of energon. Help me get him onto the berth.” 

Hoist moved around the berth and helped lift up First Aid as gently as they could. They settled him on the berth, and Ratchet made short order or sliding the IV into his main line. 

“There we go. Swerve, help me gather up the bornlings and we will get you all to the medbay,” Ratchet said. 

“Tired,” First Aid mumbled. 

“Then rest if you need to,” Ratchet said. He picked up two of the sparklings and settled them against First Aid’s side, and picked up the two others, leaving Swerve to gather up his own sparkling.

First Aid was in recharge before they made it out the doorway. It worried Ratchet, though part of him was relieved as well. The fact First Aid was in emergence was complicating the matter, but now the energon drip was installed and now they could join the medbay, he felt more confident about the outcome. Every now and then, even as Hoist continued to pull the medical berth, Ratchet bend down to see if the contractions had started again.

“How long do you think we have until the last two decide it’s time they get out?” Hoist asked worriedly.

“Hopefully not before his energon levels are back to thirty percents; anything less and it’d be more than tedious. Of course, given our luck…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Get ready to install a second energon drip as soon as we arrive. As for the Sparklings, I guess we’ll put them in the care of whoever has a free hand.”

“Speaking of Sparkling, yours is raising the Pit in the medbay, in case you didn’t know.”

Ratchet stilled utterly, mouth dropping open in shock. “Oh slag!” he bemoaned as he realized that he had left Wrench behind without a word of explanation, too worried about First Aid to think properly. He hadn’t even taken the time to properly entrust him in someone’s care! “Who has him? How is he? What has he done? What…?”

“Calm down, calm down. I should have said, he had been raising the Pit in the Medbay. Rung had finally managed to calm him down just before I left, by letting him do a ‘check up’ on… Spork?” Hoist shuffled nervously. “I also let him have my bitlet to play with. Uh, I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda handed your Mini-you a small mallet to test reflex. We were trying to get him to stop crying!” he added quickly at Ratchet’s stare.

The medic hugged, “Well, hopefully they are all still in one piece by the time we get back.” 

Hoist’s optics blanched, “One would hope so. I did leave him with Rung. He is one of the more responsible members of the crew.” 

“If I recall Whirl is still in the medbay...” Ratchet said. 

“He was.” Hoist’s optics went a shade paler. “Oh...we should hurry.” They pushed the cart through the hall with Swerve trailing slowly behind. When they reached the medbay it was still in one piece, by some miracle. Ratchet sighed in relief as he caught sight of Rung, lying on his side on a berth nearby, Spock nestled against his middle and Wrench sitting with them. His miniature version still had the small mallet Hoist had mentioned in hand, and was giving Spock little hits over the knee with a look of utter concentration on his face.

Ratchet worried for a moment the Sparkling would hit too hard, but judging by Spock’s happy chirping as he moved his leg, the fear was unwarranted. It made the medic wonder how much of his medical protocols his son had apparently inherited; probably quite a bit, judging by the way he threw around the word ‘patient’ and insisted on ‘fixing’.

But nevermind Wrench for now. His priority for now was to make sure the last two Sparklings of First Aid could be born without trouble. And, as Hoist finished to set up a second IV and First Aid stirred, he felt confident they would pull it through.

“Ratchet? Where are we?” First Aid mumbled. 

“In the medbay. How are you feeling? Can you give me your fuel level?” 

“Mmmm....twenty percent. My lines ache.” 

Ratchet nodded. “That is normal. We’ve got two lines in you. Rest a bit more. We are trying to get in as much fuel into you as we can before your emergence starts up again.” 

“Are the other sparklings okay?” First Aid asked, and looked down at the Sparklings beside him as Hoist finally moved them over into their own bassinets. They cried out, reaching for their brothers. First Aid tried to sit up at their sounds of distress, and let out a little whimper of his own. “You… you can’t separate them! That… that’s not right!”

“We’re not separating them, First Aid, see?” Hoist replied gently as he showed the younger medic the way he was lining the bassinets next to each other. Sure enough, the Sparklings were able to turn and reach out for each other, holding hands and chirping softly in contentment. “I just need them out of the cuddle pile in order to take proper basic readings for each of them. And see, you just have to reach out and you can pet them,” he added as he gently guided First Aid’s hand so he could rest it on the closest Sparkling’s helm -- the one who looked like a miniature Blades.

First Aid’s systems hummed with contentment as the Sparkling leaned into his touch and communicated his enthusiasm to his brothers. Said contentment only lasted for a few kliks before he let out a sharp cry as a new contraction reverberated through his frame.

“Ra… Ratchet!” he whimpered.

“It’s alright, kid, it’s alright,” the older medic said soothingly. “It’s a minor one. I know it feels very painful, but right now, your systems are oversensitized due to their weakness. Once you’re back to over thirty percents, they’ll feel less painful. Sadly, they will also grow in frequency as your body will be ready to birth the last two bitlets.”

“Ni… niiiice!” the other mech squealed. “Slag! I want it over with!” First Aid whined.

“It will be soon, just relax as much as you can,” Ratched said, and moved around the berth to the drips. He increased the drip rate as much as he dared. It was nothing if not uncomfortable for First Aid, but would be less dangerous that the alternative. 

Another contraction swept through First Aid’s frame making him cry out loudly. He arched up, clawing at his frame, and would have ripped into himself if Hoist, and Ratchet had not grabbed his hands. 

“Hoist, can you please get a pain injection, it might work at this point,” Ratchet said. 

“Yes, of course.” He hurried off, and brought back the injection. He handed it over to Ratchet who wasted little time in injection it. First Aid’s fram relaxed nearly immediately and Ratchet nodded, good, good. I want you to hook him up to a spark monitor, Hoist.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Feels weird.” First Aid frowned. “I can still feel it, but it doesn’t hurt like it did before. It’s more like a pressure.” 

“That is good,” Ratchet said. “It means it’s working.” His shoulders sagged in relief. At least that was one less worry. He hadn’t dared to tell it aloud, but he was been worried over the strain the repeated contractions had had on the younger medic’s frame. First Aid was rather sturdy -- all medics were specifically modified and had their systems reinforced in order to deal with carrying patients and be able to work day-long shifts without a break if needed, even if most didn’t appear that way -- but even he had limits.

“Brace up, kid; it’ll be over soon enough,” he added as he patted First Aid’s shoulder in encouragement.

Sure enough, the contractions increased in frequency over the next two joors, but First Aid barely felt them thanks to the painkillers. It also helped his attention was focused on the already born bitlets in their bassinets, the little one cooing for his attention. First Aid would certainly have his hands full, Ratchet mused as he cleaned off the fifth one and installed it next to its brothers. “Only one left, kid. Hang on.”

First Aid just hummed, optics dimmed. Ratchet was starting to wonder if the painkiller hadn’t started to work a little too well even as he bent down to check on the progression of the last emergence. Sure enough, the Sparkling was crowning already, eager to be let out and join its siblings out of the gestation chamber. it made a small whimper as it finally left its Carrier’s valve, even as First Aid sighed in relief.

“Congratulation, First Aid; it’s a Mini-you,” Hoist joked as Ratchet handed him the Sparkling to clean up.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you okay?” Tailgate asked for the millionth time since they laid down the mech blanket on the observation deck. He had been surprised when Cyclonus humoured his suggestion for the picnic on the observation deck. He had more than half expected Cyclonus to say no, but perhaps he needed to get out equally as much as Tailgate did. 

“It’s fine,” the purple mech said. He watched his small version roll around, seemingly determined to move closer to Tailgate. “Do you think it’s odd that he moves about so much?” Cyclonus frowned. “It is usually vorns before a new spark is able to do that.” 

Tailgate shrugged, “Honestly, I have no idea. Never saw a sparkling before my...you know...accident.” He sat down heavily, his Sparkling tucked in his arms. The little thing was wriggling and chirping happily, waving at Cyclonus’ own miniature version. “I didn’t even know they came in so tiny a format.”

“I think it’s a question of proportions on the Creators’ part,” the purple warrior mentioned as he too sat down and reached to grab his ‘son’. The horned Sparkling tried to duck, only to be caught anyway and huff in frustration. Not that Cyclonus cared as he looked sternly at his Mini-him. “Quit it.”

“Aww, let him alone, Cyclonus, it’s just a Sparkling,” Tailgate chided.

“It’s not ‘just a Sparkling’,” Cyclonus retorted. “And if that crazy Security mech wasn’t still in stasis, I’m certain he would agree with me. Nothing is natural about any of those Sparklings, mark my word.” Even so, his gaze softened ever so slightly as the mini-Tailgate waved at him happily. He was starting to wonder if the tiny thing was even able to be anything but joyous and bouncy. “Did you end up choosing a name for him yet?”

“Not really,” Tailgate shrugged. “Ratchet said we could take all the time we needed, but I’m not too sure anything I think off would be a good name. Bluestreak told me the indigenous population on Earth has whole guides to help new Creators pick a name for their Sparklings, can you imagine? It must be incredibly complicated to find a name -- at least I think so, because I can’t find one!”

“I’m sure it will come to you in time,” Cyclonus said. 

“I just want it to be perfect. Look how cute he is, Cyclonus! He’s adorable. He deserves an adorable name. Something perfect for him.” 

“You will think of something appropriate,” Cyclonus said, and tried to wrangle his own squirming sparkling. The little thing glared up at him balefully, and had the audacity to growl. 

“I don't know, Cyclonus. It seems like a very big responsibility.” 

Cyclonus hummed in half-agreement before he yelped, his miniature copy having decided to kick him. “Why you…!”

“Is my little sweetling hungry?” Tailgate cooed at his miniature version, foraging in the picnic basket with one hand. They had prepared all sort of treats in the kitchenette behind Swerve’s bar for the occasion -- and Tailgate had to briefly wonder how Cyclonus had managed to convince the other Minibot to lend them the place. Anyway, they had made plenty of little energon jellies, a chrome-alloy pie, and they had packed some oil to drink. And of course, the baby bottles.

As Tailgate took one out of the basket, his son squirmed and clapped in joice, already reaching for the teat. “Ah, ah, slowly baby,” Tailgate cooed. “First off, let’s take that mask off.”

Tailgate manually disengage his mini-copies faceplates, revealing the chubby cheeks beneath, and an already open mouth. “Oh, you are in need of fuel, aren’t you my little sweetling?” 

The bornling latched onto the bottle as soon as it was close enough to grab. Tailgate giggled, listening to the noises the bornling made. “Very hungry,” Tailgate said. “Do you need a bottle for your bornling?” 

Cyclonus’ sparkling finally wiggled free. He stood on wobbly legs and pointed at Tailgate. He took two more, nearly falling over before Cyclonus scooped him up. 

“I know they are not supposed to do that at this point,” Cyclonus said. 

“They are just special.” 

“That’s a way to say it,” the purple mech said dryly. “Still, special or not, a Sparkling born barely three solar cycles ago has no business trying to stand and walk like an adult.” He eyed his Creation dubiously. “Come to think, I don’t remember anyone reporting theirs trying to walk on their two legs, or managing to.”

“Well… Ratchet said his talk already; does that count?” Tailgate asked distractedly as he shifted his hold and the position of his mini-him. The Sparkling was being gluttonous and he risked choking at this rate -- or worse, get a tummy ache because he would have taken too much at once!

“Not the same thing, Tailgate,” Cyclonus groaned. “I suppose I’ll have to drop by the medbay and see Ratchet…”

“Aw, but our picnic?” the blue and white Minibot whined, looking up to the big horned warrior with shining optics that were all but begging. Cyclonus blinked and tried not to groan.

“I didn’t say now; later.” He lowered his gaze to look at his still wriggling son. The Sparkling’s optics were focused on Tailgate and Mini-Tailgate, and Cyclonus almost swore there was longing in those optics. “He seems to really like you.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’m---quite fond of you,” Cyclonus said. He frowned. 

Tailgate pouted, “Only fond.” 

Cyclonus sorted, “You know how I feel.” 

“I like to hear it though,” Tailgate said, far too wheedling to be innocent. 

Cyclonus narrowed his optics, and let go of his son. The little mech walked as fast as his unsteady peds could carry him to Tailgate’s side. He patted the mech’s leg and lifted his arms up, clearly asking to be picked up. The cooing of the Minibot made the purple warrior sit more stiffly as Tailgate stopped feeding his Sparkling -- who made a little sound of protest at the loss of the yummy baby bottle and its content -- to better pick Mini-Cyclonus and cuddle with both Sparklings in his laps.

“Aren’t they adorable?”

Cyclonus just grunted, optics still narrowly focused on his miniature version. Said miniature version stared at him back and Cyclonus could have swore he was looking smug as he burrowed himself in Tailgate’s side. Scratch that, he WAS looking smug, Cyclonus decided, discontent. He didn’t say anything, though, and opted to take out the adult treats out of the basket, as well as the baby bottle destined to his son.

“Give him back, I’m going to feed him.”

“Oh, but I can do it, no problem,” Tailgate chirped. “Would you like me to feed you baby? Yes, I know you’d like!”

“You’re spoiling him rusted,” the purple warrior groused. “It’s not good to give Sparklings that much attention.”

Tailgate tilted his head to the side, hugging both Sparklings close. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Cyclonus growled. “What is there to be jealous of? He is just a sparkling. Just give him back to me so I can feed him.”

The bornling snuggled closer to Tailgate and gave a loud whine as if he understood what Cyclonus was saying. He clung more tightly to the little minibot. 

“Aw, he doesn’t want to go, Cyclonus. He wants me to hold him. Don’t you little mech?” Tailgate’s optic band brightened. “I think he likes me.” 

“Is that so?” the purple warrior asked neutrally. He looked at his miniature copy with a dubious and highly suspicious expression. Just how much had those Sparklings inherited from them? How much of their personalities, of their feelings? If he had to judge by his own copy alone… quite a lot.

… and now he had the irrational desire to treat the Sparkling like a new, unexpected rival! He quickly squashed down that line of thoughts; Tailgate wouldn’t have understood, nor would he have approved. Still, he made a note to himself to actually do something to make the Minibot quite aware of his feelings toward him -- preferably tonight, once the two Sparklings would be in recharge, so there wouldn’t be any distraction.

“... I suppose he does,” he finally grunted. “But you can’t properly feed him while also holding yours. How about I handle your son while you do mine?”

“Good idea!” Tailgate chirped, manoeuvring so Cyclonus could take Mini-Tailgate carefully. The tiny Sparkling blinked and made a little sound betraying his curiosity, but he snuggled readily in Cyclonus’ arms. The horned mech had to smile briefly.

The mini-bot copy snatched onto the bottle as soon as it was presented to him, but continued to watch Cyclonus with big optics. It was a very long time before he pushed the bottle away, and squirmed in Cyclonus’ arms until he pulled the little minibot close to his spark. He finally calmed down then, and cuddled close to the purple warrior. 

“Awww...you two look so cute!” 

Cyclonus’ attention was drawn back to Tailgate, and his mini copy. The purple bornling was snuggled against Tailgate, and Primus blast it if the tiny mech didn’t have a smirk on his faceplates. This would not do at all. The purpled sparkling clung to Tailgate like a limpet. It was difficult to resist crossing the room, and pluck the bornling away from Tailgate. The minibot definitely would not understand.

“I’m sure we do,” he mumbled as he patted Mini-Tailgate’s back. The little thing chirped happily before cuddling again, making plenty of little sounds that seemed to convey his approval.

“You’ll protect him, right, Cyclonus?”

Cyclonus blinked, the question taking him off guard. “Of course; why wouldn’t I?”

The blue and white Minibot sagged. “Oh, I don’t know. I was just… wondering. I mean, you’re going to be busy with your own bornling, and all that. You… probably won’t have as much time to spend with me and Mini-me, right?”

“That’s stupid,” the horned warrior growled. “I’ll always time for you… and for your son here,” he added as he knelt down, Tailgate’s miniature copy wriggling to be let go off. He carefully deposited him on the floor, where the bitlet immediately started crawling toward its Carrier while babbling wordlessly. “Now, how about we eat?” he added gruffly as Tailgate cuddled with both Sparklings again.

Tailgate smiled behind his mask, “I would like that.” 

Cyclonus opened the basket, and pulled out the box of energon treats. He opened the box, and with careful claws he pulled one out, and offered it to Tailgate. The minibots mask snapped open after a moment. He reached for the treat, but Cyclonus shooed him away with his other hand and instead pressed the treat to Tailgate’s lips with his own claws. 

Tailgate took it carefully into his mouth, his visor taking on a pink tint, and energon rushing to his cheekplates. 

Cyclonus’ lips twitched into a small smile, one most mechs would not believe the purple warrior capable of.

“T-thank you,” Tailgate managed when the treat was finally swallowed.

“Would you like another?” Both Sparklings started to chirp and Cyclonus lowered his gaze. Mini-Cyclonus had wriggled free of Tailgate’s arms and was standing unsteadily on his pedes, tugging on his adult version knee joint to get his attention, while Mini-Tailgate seemed to await expectedly. Cyclonus frowned. “Do you want a treat too?” he asked slowly.

Both Sparklings erupted in happy chirps.

“Aren’t they too small for that?” Tailgate asked worriedly. “Ratchet said they weren’t supposed to go on solid energon, right?”

“Indeed, they’re too young,” Cyclonus started, only for the Sparklings to start making sad faces as they seemed to realize they wouldn’t get a treat too. “No need to look at me like that, son,” he groused at his mini-version, who stared back. “Energon treats aren’t for little bitlets; they’d make you sick. And you don’t want to be sick, right? You don’t want little Tailgate here to be sick as well?” he added, narrowing his optics.

That seemed to do the trick, because as if he had understood, the horned Sparkling’s optics widened and he let himself fall back on his aft, arms crossed over his chest and huffing. He exchanged clicks and chirps with mini-Tailgate, who fussed before calming down.

“Poor little sprockets,” Tailgate said. “It’s really not fair.” 

“No, it is not,” Cyclonus agreed and offered another treat to Tailgate, “But we would not want them to be sick either. Would we?” 

Tailgate ate the treat slowly. “No, we wouldn't. I want to be a good creator, Cyclonus!” 

“Mmmm...I know you do. It’s obvious that you care. You would have been a good housemech, I think.” 

“A housemechs?” 

“One that stays at home, and takes care of the sparklings. During the golden age some mechs were created for that. Mostly nobles, really.” 

Tailgate’s optic band flashed and he tilted his head to the side in deep concentration. “That’s weird,” he finally said. “I mean, what happen to them if they don’t have Sparklings? Because normally they’re hard to conceive, right?”

Cyclonus blinked. “Well… I guess they were helping around the house and organizing parties?” he offered, remembering how the world had turned once.

“Yeah, but what if the noble they’re Bonded to goes broke? What happen then?”

“I… have no idea,” Cyclonus allowed, rubbing his temples. “Nobles just didn’t go broke, so I guess the point was moot. They were supposed to take care of the Sparklings and the house and that was it. And while I do agree it seems an empty life, all the housemechs who spoke up seemed content with their lot.”

“Hmm… but if some weren’t, they wouldn’t have allowed them to speak, yes?” Cyclonus had no answer to that. Tailgate looked down at his tiny copy in wonder. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my bitlet and I love yours, but I don’t really see myself staying in my habsuite to raise them while you go adventuring and all that. At least not once they’re big enough to talk and walk right.”

“You would want to go on all of the adventures with me then?” Cyclonus asked quietly. 

Tailgate’s lips curled into a smile. “I would. All of them. As long as we were together, I think that would be the thing,” Tailgate finished shyly.

Cyclonus’ optics dimmed, “In theory?” 

“No...not at all. You know...I...yeah...” Tailgate wiggled in his seat. “Please don’t make me say it. It’s embarrassing, and you probably don’t agree.” 

“I see. I think you may be wrong on that count. I do agree. Maybe I’ve not made myself clear,” he said, and offered Tailgate another treat. He pressed it gently to the Minibot’s lips and Tailgate gobbled it up happily before he started, in a sudden fit of boldness, to give playful licks over Cyclonus’ fingers. The purple mech blinked before breaking into a smile. “Is it your way to clarify the matter?”

“Perhaaaaps,” Tailgate singsonged before he leaned back, content. After a moment of hesitation, he let go of the two Sparklings and gently pushed them away, encouraging them to go explore or better, to go back and forth between Cyclonus and him. Mini-Cyclonus seemed unhappy at first, but when Mini-Tailgate started to crawl after him with an happy shriek, he seemed to mollify.

Carefully, he started to walk or rather, to waddle back and forth on the observation desk, sometimes falling on his knees with a huff before rising up again, Mini-Tailgate tagging along happily. The tiny Sparkling was so slow it was obvious Mini-Cyclonus was slowing down at times to allow the smaller Sparkling to follow him.

Tailgate chuckled and cooed happily as he watched them. “Aren’t they the cutest thing you ever seen?”

Cyclonus hummed noncommittally. “Your son seems to like to tag along,” he noted, arms crossed over his chest.

“Tag along… Tagalong... “ Tailgate mused. “Hey, do you think that’d be a cool name?”

“Well...I’m not sure about cool,” Cyclonus said, “But it is an apt name.” He cleared his vocalizer. “It is also...adorable.” 

“Oh...” Tailgate’s visor tinged ping again. “You think so? Yes...I think it does fit. Rather perfectly.” 

“It does,” Cyclonus agree. He turned his helm to watch the sparkling’s. They had finally found a place to sit, and cuddled up together. His own mini copy hugged Tagalong, rocking him. 

“Do you have any ideas for naming your sparkling?” Tailgate asked. 

“I have a few ideas. I was thinking...perhaps...Typhoon. It seems to fit him quite well.” 

“Oh, what’s that?” 

“It is an Earth term, I believe. Like a great and destructive wind.” 

Tailgate blinked, “Is that how you feel?” 

Cyclonus turned toward him and raised an optic ridge. “When it comes to your safety, and delivering punishment to those who might have wronged you? I certainly think so.”

Tailgate blushed.

*************

Ultra Magnus held the squirming sparklings in his hands as carefully as he could. He was, not surprisingly, at a loss on what to do with them. The green bornling began to cry, which on set the blue one off. His spark tightened inside Minimus’ thin chestplates. The wailing grew until his optics stung. He was not meant for this, nor was he equipped for it. 

He set the mechlings down into their crib. They clung to each other, still crying loudly. He was tempted to call for Ratchet, but he could not imagine that the medic would appreciate it. He had far too much on his plate anyways. 

He clenched his hands in a fist. He had already fed them, what else in Primus’ name would they want. His processor ached painfully and he rubbed his temples, wincing as it provided little relief. The wailings just seemed to pick up in intensity.

“Please, please,” he finally begged, falling to one knee besides the crib, “stop crying!” The Sparklings either didn’t heard him or they didn’t care, because they didn’t stop. If anything, Ultra Magnus would have sworn they were getting louder. He felt like crying -- or throwing his desk across the room, whichever worked to calm his aching processor.

That was, of course, the moment someone knocked at the door.

“Knock, knock, may I enter?” Rodimus asked cheerily as he entered, his own Sparkling in his arms, not waiting for an invitation. Obviously, he had used his override codes, and if Ultra Magnus had been more himself, he would have pointed out such a gross abuse of the captain’s rights.

“Rodimus,” he groaned instead, “I don’t have time for…”

“Well, well, well, would you look at that?” the flame-painted mech said cheerily as he came over the crib and leaned over it, his shadow falling over the two wailing Sparklings, whose cries subsided as they sniffed, hiccuped and stared at the stranger looming over them. Rodimus’ optics flashed. “Wow! I had always wondered if you had had mustache when you were a tyke, Minimus, but looks like I got my answer!”

Under the Magnus armor, Minimus groaned. “Rodimus…”

“No, seriously, that’s adorable! Look at how cute those tiny mustaches are,” the co-captain chirped, reaching with a digit to stroke and tickle Minimus’ copy under the chin. “Hello Mini-Minimus… Hmm, perhaps I shouldn’t call him that. Minimus Junior, perhaps,” he mused aloud as the green Sparkling blinked and chirruped curiously. In answer, Rodimus’ own Sparkling chirruped as well and started to wiggle. “Oh, you want down with your friends, Junior? No problem! Here baby, have fun!” he added as he deposited the flame-painted bitlet between Mini-Ultra and Minimus Junior.

The three Sparklings immediately startled to happily cuddle together, the tears and wails immediately forgotten, making Ultra Magnus drop his jaw open in surprise. “How do you do that?”

“Do what? Make them stop crying?” Rodimus laughed, “They were just lonely obviously.” 

It wasn’t obvious at all to Magnus. “Ah...how can you tell?” 

“I just can,” Rodimus said. He leaned over and cooed at the sparklings. “They are so precious.” They wiggled, cooing back, and cuddling each other. It was like night and day. 

“I don’t understand. I can’t get them to stop wailing. They cry all the time. I---” Ultra Magnus vented loudly. Admitting defeat was not an easy thing for him. “I’m not very good at this.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Rodimus argued. “I’m sure you’ll do awesomely once you get used to them. I admit, two at once isn’t as easy as just having Junior, like me, but…” he trailed off, looking pensive. Ultra Magnus fidgeted nervously.

“Rodimus?”

“Just thinking,” the Prime said. “Say, when you take care of them, do you always do it while wearing the Magnus armor, or as Minimus?”

“As the Magnus,” the other mech immediately answered, raising his hands in defense as Rodimus frowned. “I can’t just take care of them both as the same time as Minimus! At least, not the Magnus look-alike! He’s big already, and I can’t possibly carry them both at the same time as myself!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, but that might be one reason they’re so fussy and spend so much time crying. You birthed them as Minimus, did you not? Since the armor is just that, an armor. So logically, they have always picked your EM field as Minimus Ambus, right? But the armor acts as a signal damper or a modifier for your field, unless I’m wrong. Sooooooo, perhaps they just don’t get who’s the giant who carry them around and where their Carrier is because they can sense him?” the flame colored-mech offered.

Ultra Magnus stared in open disbelief, jaw dropping open. “... I don’t know what is the scarier; you offering a logical, plausible explanation, or the fact you’re most likely right and I didn’t think about it by myself already.”

“Aw, Magnus, you make it sound like I never have any good ideas! Frag! I’m full of awesome ideas!” 

“And then you ruin it,” Ultra Magnus said. He shook his helm in exasperation. 

“Naw. I didn’t ruin it. It’s a good idea. Let’s get you out of that armor and we can test the theory,” he said and waggled his browplates. 

Ultra Magnus stared, “Rodimus...” 

“I’m serious.” The captain’s lips curled into the least reassuring smile that Ultra had even seen in his existence.

“Fine,” Ultra grumbled. He disengaged the locks and began the tedious process of removing the frame around him.

Rodimus watched, crossing his arms over his chest. Was that a smirk? Probably. He fought down his annoyance at the Lost Light’s Co-captain, knowing it would only serve to amuse him further. The armor slowly came apart, Minimus letting it drop to the floor carefully before he stepped out of the remnants and looked up glaringly at Rodimus, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well? Is it to your liking?”

“Oh, that’s not for me to judge, but for the tyke,” the flame-painted mech waved. “Let’s see what they think, shall we?” He walked over behind Minimus and started to push him eagerly toward the crib, despite the tiny mech dragging his heels.

“Rodimus! This is perfectly undignif… oh.”

Oh indeed, Rodimus thought amusedly as the Sparklings picked up on their Carrier’s familiar EM field and immediately started to chirp and try to sit to reach out for him with greedy, eager little arms. Mini-Magnus had the better reach, but Minimus Junior was the loudest and the easiest to pick, weight-wise, and so Minimus Ambus took him first. The tiny mustached Sparkling immediately curled, almost purring, against his Carrier while Mini-Ultra pouted.

“I can’t take both like that, Rodimus,” Minimus whined again, only for the Prime to tut with authority.

“Standing, certainly not, but if you go sit in that Magnus-sized chair? Yes, yes, go ahead,” he directed the Tyrest Accord Enforcer as he gently took Mini-Magnus in his arms, winking at his own mini-copy. “Don’t worry Junior, I’m yours in one moment.” Wow, the Sparkling was heavy -- must have been all that reinforced armor. With a few strides, he joined Minimus, who was installing himself, and deposited Mini-Magnus against him. The big Sparkling immediately cuddled against his Carrier with a chirp, a beaming smile on his faceplates.

Rodimus took a few steps back and watched with a smirk as the overwhelmed Minimus found himself as the filling of a cuddle sandwich. “I’m sooooo sending the whole crew a picture,” he singsonged.

Minimus stared at him. “You wouldn’t?”

Rodimus laughed, Lips curling up into a mischievous smile.”You look so adorable. I could I not?”

Minimus Ambus huffed, and turned his attention back to his sparklings. They were both snuggled against him, and purring loudly. Their little hands held on tightly to his armor as if scared he would disappear again. He hugged them close, and let his field expand and envelop them. This did feel better. He could feel their joy through the carrier bond, and it soothed him as much as it did them. 

“They look happy,” Rodimus said. The co-captain had retrieved Junior and was bouncing him on his hip. The red flamed bornling was laughing loudly, arms flinging about. 

“They feel happy,” Minimus Ambus said. “Very happy.” He looked up at Rodimus with a frown. “I can’t believe I’m going to say it but… thank you, Rodimus.”

“No problem -- and hey!” the flame-painted mech pouted, Junior snickering on his hip, apparently very aware of what was going on. “You traitor,” he called out to the Sparkling who just giggled. Rodimus shook his head in mock-anger. “I get no respect from you mechs.”

“Oh, you do,” Minimus smiled softly. “But you’re fun to tease.”

The Prime huffed. “So, now that the little ones are calmed, how about we get back to important business?”

“You were coming to see me on official capacity?” the minibot blinked before bending to give Minimus Junior a kiss on the forehead. “That’s a rarity. And what can I do for you, exactly? When my hands will not be full of Sparklings anymore.”

Rodimus’ face broke into a large grin. “Simple; I was thinking we totally needed to organize playdates between the kids! They need to learn to socialize!” Minimus started to groan, only for the Prime to rise a hand. “Ah, ah, wait, I wasn’t finished! We could also mount a daycare or a nursery, so everyone can cover their shift!”

This time, Minimus stared and Rodimus shuffled. “What? I thought you’d like the idea. Sure, for now the ship is grounded and we don’t plan to go anywhere soon, but sooner or later we’re going to have to move out, and we’ll need everyone at their post.”

Minimus looked thoughtful, “It isn’t a bad idea. Do you have any ideas on who you would like to run it?” 

“Mmmm....not sure yet. Maybe a rotating group. Some mechs that seem to be good at watching the littles,” the co-captain said, sounding thoughtful. “Maybe post a sign-up sheet to see who is interested.”

“They would need to be screened,” Minimus frowned. “There are some mechs that I would not feel comfortable leaving my bornlings with.” He squinted at Rodimus. “Maybe put someone like Rung in charge of the volunteers, if he is willing, of course.” 

“Of course,” Rodimus’ lips curled into an amused smile. “Sounds like a plan. Would you mind getting the sign-ups ready and supervising it initially?” 

“I don't know, Rodimus. I have a lot of things to do right now. I’m not going to lie. I’m overwhelmed. I never expected to watch out for one newframe, much less two.” His shoulders sagged. “Oh, they’re cute and I can feel they love me, it sooths me, but I’m not cut to be a Carrier.”

“Because you think I am?!” Rodimus exclaimed, gesturing wildly as Junior hung to his arm, giggling and screeching with laughter. Rodimus immediately grabbed him back wincing. “Oops,” he muttered. “See what I mean?”

“Painfully so,” Minimus answered dryly. “You seem to be good with kids at the very least; I can’t claim the same thing.” Minimus Junior curled a little more against him and he gently patted his back before Mini-Ultra started to fuss and he had to concentrate on him.

“Suuure,” Rodimus drawled. “Remember who else is a Carrier on board? Whirl. Brainstorm,” he added as Minimus twitched violently. “Both in charge of young, very impressionable and scarily intelligent Sparklings. Sparklings who may have inherited their quirks.”

“... They’re not allowed to sign up for the daycare idea, ever,” the green tiny mech twitched. “No way I let one of them turn my Sparklings into little hooligans -- and neither will you!” he added, to the Co-Captain’s amusement.

“What about Megatron? Would he be an acceptable choice of caretaker?” Rodimus asked innocently, and this time Minimus did look very faint. “No. Never. I don’t want my sparklings near him.” 

“But he is very good with them,” Rodimus continued. “I’ve not seen a sparkling that does not adore him.”

“I find that implausible.” 

Rodimus laughed, and Junior echoed him, flinging his hands up in apparent amusement. “It is the truth. Junior adores him!” 

“Junior has bad taste. I can’t imagine that---that mech would---no. Just no!” 

“Minimus! That is exactly why I think you would be a good mech to round up the caretakers. It’s clear that you have firm opinions about this.” 

Rodimus pulled up one of the chairs and sat down, facing opposite of Minimus. “I really do need someone who is invested in the well being of our bornlings.” 

“You make a persuasive argument,” Minimus said, “Fine, whatever. I will make the sign-ups and make the interviews. I can see that you are not going to bug me until I see things your way.” 

The Prime just grinned. “You bet I won’t.”


	5. Chapter 5

The scene going down in the labs was rather amusing to the bystanders.

Rubbing his hands and nodding to himself as he checked his equipment, Perceptor was faintly smiling. “Good, good. I think this time I have everything I need.” He started to turn. “Now if you would just stop squirming and stay still, I could… No!” the microscope snapped as his mini-copy froze, caught up in the act of crawling away from the examination table set by his Carrier.

Optics wide and innocents, he chirped. Perceptor just frowned. “Oh no, this won’t take with me, young mech. Now, for the sake of science, go back to sit still and… Do you even listen to me?” he asked with a sigh as the Sparkling crawled with even more enthusiasm toward him, regularly stumbling as he was disequilibrated by the weight of the microscope on his shoulder.

The other mechs and femme present in the room could just giggle. “Sounds like your son has no patience for science, Percy.”

“Ridiculous,” the microscope dismissed. “He’s just too young to know better yet.”

“Nonsense, I know my son would sit still! Wouldn't you little mech?” Brainstorm cooed and bounced his bornling on his hip before placing him beside Perceptor’s sparkling. “Don’t they look cute together.” Brainstorm cooed before sidling up to Perceptor. “Adorable. Look at that.” 

Perceptor scowled at him, “What are you even doing in the lab?” 

“Oh, come on Percy, don’t tell me you are still mad about the briefcase thing. The trial is over, and I’m out of the brig, and come on. I did it all for a really good reason.” 

Perceptor brushed him away, “You are ruining my experiment. Go away.” 

“It’s my lab too,” he said and crossed his arms over his chest. “‘Sides, I’m supposed to be here working on the toys. Our good co-captain decreed it after all.”

“And I can’t believe he was crazy enough to trust you with such a ‘mission’,” Perceptor retorted, optics narrowed. “I prefer to warn you, Brainstorm: should I see you reaching out for volatile substances, or anything that can burn, explode, melt or otherwise cause grievous harm around the Sparklings, I’m going to show you exactly why I made it into the Wreckers!”

“Wow, who would have thought Percy was the kind to turn into a Papa Bear?” Nightbeat whistled.

“A what?” Nautica whispered back as the two stood quietly in a corner of the room as the two scientists argued. It allowed them to also watch Mini-Percy and Mini-Brainy, as Nautica had nicknamed them, as the two played without a care for the adults. Mini-Percy was looking curiously at the adults with a look of concentration, while Mini-Brainy was happily teething on the edge of a mini-briefcase Brainstorm had apparently made just for him.

“An human term for protective Creator, at least if I remember Swerve’s shows right.”

“Oh,” the femme said, nodding as she bounced her own Sparkling in her arms. The little femme was beaming at her and it made her giggle. “You’re so cute!”

Nightbeat cleaner his vocalizer and said in sotto voce, “I think they forgot we are here.” Brainstorm and Perceptor’s argument rose in volume making all of the sparklings perk up, and Mini-Percy began to cry loudly. That at least stopped Perceptor in his tracks. 

That at least got Perceptor’s attention, “Magnificus! That is not a scientific way of dealing with things at all.” 

Brainstorm snorted, “You know he’s just a kid, right? He probably only understands a bit of what you are saying.” 

“He knows exactly what I’m saying. He’s brilliant,” Perceptor said, and glared at Brainstorm. 

“Wonder they would even notice if we left,” Nautica whispered to Nightbeat and giggled. “Maybe we could get a few cubes of energon.” 

“Tempting, very tempting,” Nightbeat whispered back, “but I think they will at least notice the door opening. They made sure to have it give a loud, specific noise when it does in order not to be surprised by visitors when they’re in the middle of an experiment.”

“Really? I didn’t hear anything before?” Nautica asked, head tilted. For all answer, Nightbeat raised a finger and pointed to a bright green light over the door.

“They can turn it on or off at will, and the ring it causes is only heard in the lab just seconds before the door open, so it isn’t noticeable from the outside. Normally, they only used it when working on important projects, but ever since the Sparklings have started popping up everywhere, they decided to keep in on all the time.”

“Why? Because their sons already tried to escape their arguments?”

“Magnificus! Nononono, no crying!” Perceptor said desperately as he took the crying mechling in his arms to rock him and calm him down.

“Am I the only one here who thought he was cruel with the bitlet when he named him?” Nightbeat asked for himself, shaking his head.

Nautica snickered, “No...no...not at all.” 

“I think Muse is just as bad though, not sure what Brainstorm was thinking,” Nightbeat whispered. 

“You know we can hear you, right?” Brainstorm snapped, and leaned past Perceptor to glare at both of them. 

The both froze, Nautica’s optics widened and he mouth dropped open. Nightbeat put a finger under her chin, closing her mouth.

“Yeah, well, what do you expect?” Nightbeat said. “Really? You are both acting less mature than your mechlings.” 

Perceptor gasped, “We are not! We are working on an important experiment!” 

Nightbeat snorted, “Yeah.” He and Nautica shared a smirk. “So important you got yourself busier screaming at each other rather than doing said experiment. And Perceptor, as much as I like you, standing around in your lab with a mechling who looks like he could need a lab while waiting for you to remember we’re here isn’t my idea of fun, just so you know.”

“He’s right you know,” Nautica piped in. “I don’t mind you taking special readings out of my daughter and all to compare with baseline mechlings, but I’d rather go take her play somewhere they don’t stock potentially explosive substances.”

The microscope had the good grace to blush, chastised. “Oh, well. Please, do take them this way,” he gestured as he waved toward Magnificus, who had stopped crying but was still sniffing. “Please, Magnificus, stop sniffing now,” he sighed, half-pleading as he patted the little microscope’s helm gently. The mini-clone leaned readily into the touch.

Brainstorm’s bornling held his arms up and whimpered until Brainstorm picked him up, and whirled him around. The Muse giggled, clinging to his creator. “You are just the cutest thing ever,” Brainstorm cooed. “Cute, and perfect!”

Nautica snickered, “Oh, Brainey.” 

“Well he is.” Brainstorm winked, one side of his visor going dark for a moment. “Cute and adorable, and perfect.” 

“Are you ready to continue the experiment?” Perceptor asked, his tone edging towards testiness.

“Don’t get your diodes in a buch, Percy,” Brainstorm teased. 

“Don’t...get...how dare you! How dare you talk to me like that,” Perceptor fumed. 

“Aw, don’t get upset, Percy. He just says things like that because he likes you,” Nautica said. “It’s kinda adorable.” 

“There is nothing adorable about this. I just want to start the test. Why can’t you all just cooperate?” Perceptor huffed. “I don't appreciate it at all.” He glared. “And stop snickering! It’s not funny!”

“Yes it is,” Nautica giggled. “You just too serious to really notice! Okay, okay, we’ll stop joking,” she added as she all but heard the microscope snarl as Magnificus blinked and clicked anxiously. “You can do readings on Thalassica if you wish.” She bounced the female Sparkling in her arms as she walked over the examination table.

“Thank you,” the adult microscope said with dignity. As Nautica settled down with the bitlet in her lap next to a quiet, suddenly curious Magnificus, he made to grab the scanner as well as a syringe and what humans could have mistaken for cotton swabs.

“I admit I’m curious as to her name,” Brainstorm mentioned as he moved away from Perceptor and toward his own work station, his Sparkling settled over his back in an harness to keep him safe. “Thalassica?”

“Oh, it’s in honor of one of my ForeCreators on my Sire’s side,” the purple femme waved. “Thalassa, she was named. Everyone hailed her as one of the biggest geniuses of her generations. She was mostly busy in the xenobiologist field, but she dabbled in a number of other and she published a lot of papers.”

“Oh! I am familiar with her. I was not aware she was one of your fore creators. The treatise was in one of the science packets I begged off of Windblade. She was rather brilliant, I mean her work. Wow. Kinda impressed,” Brainstorm babbled, and then looked flustered when he finished. “Yeah...cool.” 

Nautica laughed, “Well, I hope my little bit follows in her persteps.” 

“Not a bad thing to hope for,” Nightbeat said. “In fact it’s pretty likely with how brilliant our Nautica is.” 

“Nightbeat,” Nautica laughed, and slapped at him playfully. “You are the worse kind of flatterer, I swear.” 

Nightbeat gave her a lopsided smile, “It’s working then?” 

“No, it’s not,” Perceptor interrupted. “I need some help.” 

Brainstorm barked a laugh, “With what, Percy?”

“Stop calling me that! Can you just Do the scan for me and take the samples? He won’t stop wiggling.” 

Magnificus squawked at them both chittering at them like an angry turbosquirrel. His complaints only got louder when Brainstorm took the energon sample, and turned into a full out, angry wail. 

“I don't think he likes this, not at all.” Brainstorm said as he labeled the sample. “There we go. All done, little mech. Nautica? I think your bitty is up next.” 

“Just don’t hurt her, okay,” the femme said. Thalassica blinked as Brainstorm crouched before her, an hidden smile on his lips. The purple femmeling chirped in wonder at the close proximity of this stranger, and the scientist took advantage of the fact to slip a swab in her mouth. Thalassica chirped loudly in disagreement with the treatment and spat out the swab, or tried to. Brainstorm chuckled as he withdrew the swab while Nautica tickled her femmeling to distract her.

“It’s alright, baby, it’s alright!”

“As you can see, I didn’t hurt her. But if you could keep her distracted while I take the energon sample?” Brainstorm offered as he gestured distractedly toward the syringe. Nautica nodded briefly before she started to thrill and coo, dragging the femmeling’s attention to her.

“Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl? Yes you are, yes you are!” Thalassica giggled, and as she tried to grab her Carrier’s nose with her tiny hand, she paid no attention to Brainstorm as the scientist took her other arm and deftly pressed the needle in the crook of her arm, straight in a line. He barely pierced it, drawing only a few droplets, but they were more than enough.

He put a dab of sealant on it, “There we go. Not so bad at all. What a good little femmeling you are. Such a good femmeling,” Brainstorm cooed at her making the little femmeling squeal in delight. “She really is adorable.” 

“I know. She looks a lot like me as a sparkling. A LOT like me. Never thought I would be having a little so soon, and certainly not alone. I figured one sol I’d find a good femme and settle down on Caminus. Yeah. It’s not like Cybertron. We didn’t...” She waved her hand. “You know...have another way to make newsparks.” 

“Interesting, very interesting,” Perceptor said. “I was not aware of that.” 

“I do believe most of the other colonies are the same,” Nautica said. “I could, of course be wrong.” She had a self-depreciating smile. “It’s not like I visited a lot or really explored the different ways one could produce a Sparkling asides of having a Carrier or a Sire before I joined the crew.”

“To be fair, nobody on board really thought about Sparklings at all before we started swelling up like balloons about to pop,” Nightbeat said dryly as he came closer with his bitlet. “You can take samples from him too if you need,” he nodded toward Brainstorm before looking back at Nautica. “Actually, I’m not even sure half the mechs on board knew about Sparklings in the first place.”

Nautica looked dubious. “Really? Given how often some of them interface -- and don’t bother denying, I have working audios and some of them are really, really loud when they’re at it -- you would have expected them to know or at least someone to have an happy accident.”

“Yes, but with the war and even before, with the Functionalists ruling, almost all the population had its Sparking subroutines turned off entirely, so it never was an issue,” Perceptor pointed out as he finished calming a still distressed Magnificus. “Or...it wasn’t. From what I understand the mechs that Ratchet checked all had them turned on now, and he can’t seem to be able to turn them off. Some even grew back whole gestation systems, like Rung and Ultra Magnus. The Functionalists sterilized some it would seem. It was a barbaric time.” 

“Mmmm...I have this feeling there are going to be a few more accidents then, because I can’t see most of them being careful...or even knowing how to be for that matter,” Nautica said. “Maybe we should talk to Ratchet about having some sort of mandatory class on interfacing.” 

“Seriously?” Nightbeat laughed. 

“Yes seriously. So you really think we need more little-Whirls or Tailgates running around? I mean, Tailgate is a little cutey, but I think two of them is more than enough,” Nautica said. 

“Point taken,” Perceptor said as he took the last sample from Stakeout, and handed the mechlet back to Nightbeat. “I think we are done here.” 

“Who was a brave Sparkling?” the detective cooed. Stakeout laughed and Nightbeat nuzzled him happily, making his mini-copy shriek with laughter. “Yes, it was you, you brave little thing!”

Perceptor made a face. “I don’t understand why you keep talking to them this way; it’s just so… condescending and infantilizing! They’re brighter than that.”

“Uh, Percy, they’re Sparklings,” Nautica pointed out, trying not to laugh at the look of hurt dignity on the microscope’s face. “They don’t really understand when we’re talking to them, and they like getting addressed in soft tones.”

“Ridiculous,” the scientist dismissed. “I wouldn’t speak to Magnificus this way; it would only serve to restrain and repress his mental development, something unthinkable for a future scientist.”

“But you don’t even know if he’ll want to be a scientist! I mean, he could become, I don’t, know, an Enforcer or a diplomat,” Nautica tried again.

Perceptor stared at her as if she had just swore, shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

“It’s a possibility,” Brainstorm said. “It’s not like we are living under the functionalists anymore. He...or any of them can be whatever they want. Anything, Percy, and it’s not something to get your gears all up in a twist over...although, I’m not going to lie...you look pretty cute when you scowl like that.” 

Perceptor started at the other mech, his mouth opening and closing, but for once he was at lost for words. “I don’t see how he can be anything but a scientist. He’s just a copy of me. That is all I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Uh...but he’s not you, Perceptor. You know that....right. I mean he may have your CNA...but that isn’t the only thing that make you...you. There is that whole nuture thing, and from what I’ve seen in sparklings that matters just as much. What I’m trying to say is just...frag...let him have a sparklinghood. He’s not going to thank you later for taking it away from him and forcing him to be something he just might not be,” Nautica said. “You really shouldn’t just...assume that he will want what you want.” 

“They are clones,” Perceptor said firmly.

“They are their own mechs,” Nightbeat added. “And frag, they don't understand things yet.”

Brainstorm snapped his fingers to get their attention. “You know, she has a point. Decepticons tried to dabble in cloning at some point, just so you know, and the results were… less than what they had expected.” Everybody stared at him and he shrugged. “What? Is this that much of a secret? I thought Autobots had cracked down the codes on the project a long time ago!”

“We did, though we never released the information to the general files,” Perceptor confirmed, frowning as everybody tried not to mention Brainstorm’s role and why he knew as much as he did on Decepticons’ projects. “Besides, it was a failed project they dropped immediately.”

“Uh, not exactly,” Brainstorm rubbed the back of his helm as Muse peered and chirped at him curiously. He petted him absentmindedly in turn. “They did manage to produce viable clones, but none of them shared their progenitor’s mindset and aptitudes, so it was dubbed a failure, because it didn’t allow them to get new generals and good soldiers. But the process itself was working. I mean, how do you think we ended with that many Seekers at some point?”

Nightbeat twitched. “Please, tell me they didn’t try to clone Starscream of all mechs?”

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” the blue scientist answered flatly.

Nightbeat wrinkled up his nasal ridge, “So...they weren’t like him then?” 

“Up to a point. As soon as they were onlined they started to develope their own personalities. They had their own alpha abilities...apparently those...well we were still doing testing on that when I left. It was assumed that it was solely CNA that determined such things, but it is not. There is something....more. We just were never sure what that was,” Brainstorm shrugged. “I imagine the bornlings are the same. They are not us.” 

“I have trouble believing any of that,” Perceptor said, and picked up Magnificus. “He is just like me. I guarantee it.” 

“That isn’t very...scientific of you,” Nautica said and squinted her optics at Perceptor. The microscope shook his head, clearly displeased.

“I’m perfectly scientific,” he said flatly. “Just you wait; Magnificus will become a magnificent and renowned scientist, mark my words. Won’t you?” he added for the little one’s benefit as he lifted him up in front of his face. Magnificus just blinked and reached out to grab Perceptor’s olfactive sensor, squeezing and giggling at the offended noise his adult version produced. “Magnificus!”

“Yes, a true future scientist in the making,” Nightbeat drawled before Nautica shushed him and gave him a look.

“Do not fret, Percy. Scientist or not, for now, he’s just a bornling -- a smart one perhaps, but still a bornling. So let him play and socialize with others, yes? How about we organize a playdate between him and Thalassica? Wouldn’t it be interesting to observe how a young femme and a young mech interact with each other?” she cajoled.

“I… supposed it could,” the microscope relented, looking vaguely curious. “Is there a difference in upbringing in femmes?”

“I’m not sure,” Nautica confided. “I think it’s probably more a difference of upbringing between Cybertronians and Camineans.”

“Mmmm....interesting. Perhaps we can compare notes. I am curious how...’nuture’ as you call it can change behavior. Would that be acceptable?” Perceptor asked. 

Nautica’s lips curled up, “More than acceptable, I believe. I won’t lie, I am curious about how you lived on Cybertron. What was it like being newsparked?” 

“I am not sure I would term us as such. We are created as full functioning adults. Cold-constructed of forged.” 

“Yes, I read up on that. It seems....a great shame,” She said.

“I am not sure about that. This,” he said, and pointed at Perceptor, “Seems far more complicated.” 

Nautica laughed, “That isn’t a bad thing, Percy.” 

“I guess,” Perceptor frowned. “It seems energy intensive.” 

“Also not a bad thing.” She was clearly amused. “It’s great to have a little one, Percy. You get to cuddle with him and watch him recharge and spoil him rusted with treats and toys and taking him to spectacles and to the fairs! Sure, sometimes it can be a little tiring, especially when they’re little and bouncy and energyful and won’t recharge when you need them to and keep you awake half the night and… uh, okay, not the good examples,” she shuffled nervously with a self-depreciating laugh as the three mechs and their respective bitlets stared at her. “My point is, being a Creator can be awesome, even if it’s ‘energy intensive’, as you put it. Just you wait until he starts repeating all you say or try to toddle around, you’ll see what I mean.”

“I hope so, because for now I see nothing,” the microscope replied flatly. “Now, would you please put Thalassica, Muse and Stakeout in the playpen here?” he gestured toward an area which had obviously been constructed and delimited with the remains of old crates. “I intend to observe their behavior when left alone in the presence of each other.”

“What do you mean, alone?” Brainstorm exclaimed. He held Muse closer. “I certainly won’t let him out of my sight! Do you have any idea of the type of messes a Sparkling can end up in when left without supervision? Because I watched enough of Swerve’s shows to have a good idea!”

“Do not be so dramatic, I intend to watch them through a series of cameras implanted in the lab,” Perceptor replied, moodily. “Besides, I’d hardly trust all that human propaganda; their ‘shows’ rest on no serious scientific arguments.”

“Maybe they are based on experience,” Nightbeat said. “I think they know a lot more than we do when it comes to littles.” 

Perceptor gave him a sour look, “You can rely on their ‘experience’ all you want. I want scientific proof and data.” 

“Sure, Percy, just make sure you keep an optic on them. I really don’t think it’s a good idea to leave them unsupervised,” Nautica said, and carefully placed Thalassica inside the impromptu play pen. The little femmeling looked up at her, lower lip quivering. “Oh, don’t give me that look bitty. You won’t be alone long.” True to her work the other sparklings were placed in the playpen, and the little femme scooted near to them, nearly flopping on Stakeout. The mechling trilled at her cuddling against her with an excited coo. 

Nautica smile, “What a bunch of cuties. Yes, you are! Yes you are!” 

Perceptor frowned at her talk as he put Magnificus into the playpen, and adjusted the cameras. “There. We should leave them now. You will do nothing but distract them. Come along please. I have an observation room set up.” It was in truth a glorified broom closet, but there was room enough for all of them. Video screens had been hastily mounted to the walls. 

“Aw...look at how cute they are!” Nautica squealed. “You know, you should see if Ratchet will allow you to bring Wrench in. I’m sure that would be interesting. He is the only one that has started to speak, isn’t he?” 

“Or Cyclonus’ sparkling. He is far more mobile than any of the others,” Brainstorm said. 

“In time,” Perceptor said.

*************

Megatron looked around the orange mechs office before finally taking a seat on a large, green couch. He held a large sparkling in his arms, the mechling squirmed, until Megatron finally put him down onto the floor. He crawled across the space and patted Rung’s leg, looking up at him with hopeful, red optics. 

Rung finally reached down, hauling him up and sitting him on his lap next to Spock. The little orange mechling squealed, and awkwardly tried to grab Megaplex’s armour. The grey bitlet leaned back with a pout, little arms crossed over his chest as he puffed. Spock stopped to try and grab the other bitlet, looking sad. His lower lip trembled as he looked up at his Carrier, who gave him a stroke to calm him down.

“Hush, it’s alright, Spock.” Then he turned toward Mini-Megatron with a serious look. “Yes, I do get you’re a big, strong Sparkling, Megaplex, and that you don’t need hugs or pats, but you shouldn’t reject them.”

The grey bitlet just pouted again and looked away, glaring. From his seat, Megatron sighed.

“I swear to you, Rung, I didn’t teach him to act like that.” He crossed his arms as well, looking down at his son with intense optics. “He’s like that with everyone I tried to introduce him to so far, and I don’t think it’s normal. Well, with everyone I tried to introduce him to, asides of you. For some reason I can’t fathom, he seems to like you.”

The psychiatrist moved his glasses back in place. “I believe you, do not worry. And yes, his behavior is peculiar, but nothing to be too worried about yet.”

Megaplex uncrossed his arms and curled closer to Rung, petting his armor, and looked up at him with wide optics. 

Megatron frowned at the sparklings antics. “I’ve never seen him act like that before. He actually tried to bite Swerve, he DID bite Cyclonus. He’s just not usually a very friendly mechling.” 

“I think he just needs socialized more,” Rung said, and cuddled the little mech, and his own Spock. He ignored the jealous look that Megaplex shot at Spock, and the orange bornling ignored it as well and went back to petting Megaplex’s plating, and gradually scooting closer and closer to him, until he glomped the other youngling, making Megaplex squawk loudly.

Rung entirely ignored the exchange, and bounced them both on his lap. “I---I wouldn't mind watching him for you on occasion. If you would not mind.”

Megatron grunted. “I certainly wouldn’t; Primus knows I need time for myself and to actually captain that ship before Rodimus lead us right in the middle of another loony bin. Then again, given what’s happening on board these cycles…”

“Are you saying you’re not happy with the bitlets?” Rung asked curiously, not stopping the bouncing as both Sparklings chirped. Well, Spock chirped; Megaplex was apparently too dignified to do so, but he did purr at some point.

The grey warrior rubbed his helm. “Don’t make me say what I didn’t say, Doctor. I’m mostly happy with the fact I’m now a Creator, although I could have done without the pain of the emergence and the whole accelerated process which was unwelcome. I don’t think I have ever felt as helpless and defenceless as in those cycles I spent in my quarters with my arms around my belly to check I had indeed grown to be as big as a space-whale!”

“You never looked that big,” Rung started only for Megatron to sigh.

“I know I didn’t; I still felt like I was. Not to mention, I couldn’t move as I wished anymore, and my mind was plagued with worries over the way I could defend myself if I was attacked.”

“You didn’t have to though. We are safe, and the bornlings are safe,” Rung said. “We all made it through it, and look what a gift it has been! I never thought I would be a creator. Honestly. I’m an old mech, and...well...no one has ever really noticed me. Not a lot of hope for finding a co-creator...even if I had been about to have one. You know...the council saw to it that would never be possible. It was one of the worse things they ever did to me. I think...creating new-sparks like they did was the worse thing they had ever done. I remember what it was like before.” His optics dimmed. “I know you don’t. You weren’t created yet. It was a very different world.” 

“From what Ratchet says you could have more now...if you wanted,” Megatron said. 

“Mmmm....maybe,” Rung laughed. “Not like mecha notice me any more than they did then.” 

That earned a rumble from the warrior. “They’re fools, then.”

Rung paused, raising an optic ridge and fiddling with his glasses briefly. “Fools? I don’t see why you would say so. I’m hardly what you’d call attractive, for one.”

“You’re selling yourself short, Doctor; I do know many mechs who would have enjoyed being graced by one of your smiles.” Megatron smirked as Rung blushed slightly. “And the fact you now have a bitlet would render you even more attractive among certain circles.

The orange mech swallowed nervously. “Megatron, please, let’s drop the matter. This is hardly relevant to the reason of your appointment. We’re here to talk about Megaplex and, by extension, to talk about you and how you’re adapting to being a Carrier. Let’s start with Megaplex’s name; the last time we met, you confessed having a hard time choosing a designation. I’m pleased to see you finally managed to and filled the correct form to have him officially registered; I trust it went smoothly?”

“I was having difficulties, but he responded positively to that name. I won’t lie. I was worried about forcing one on him. It is a very personal thing.” Megatron looked up at him, optics dim. 

Rung swallowed hard. “I’m sure it is.” 

“The paperwork is filed. It went much more smoothly than I believed it would. Ultra Magnus can be very thorough. It was a nice surprise. As for being a creator...I...I find myself floundering. It is not something I had ever thought possible. I...was never in a position where fostering would have been an option. It is...different. Very different than what I am used to, but that isn’t a bad thing. Perhaps it is even a good thing for my...situation.”

“You do seem to be taking things well.” 

Megatron made a humming noise, “Much to my surprise I find that I like...no I love him. I love Megaplex, very much. I may not like the uncertainty of the situation, but it is not his fault.”

He watched the Sparkling from afar with a raised optic ridge; Megaplex paid him little attention cuddling against Rung and sighing contently. Obviously, he had resigned himself to endure Spock’s hugs and happy chatter -- at least Megatron supposed it was happy chatter, because the orange mechling didn’t seem inclined to shut up. “Now I wish I was able to say he loves me back, but I doubt it.”

That startled Rung, badly. “You don’t think he loves you?”

Megatron snorted. “I can legitimately ask myself the question, Doctor. See how he acts with you, wanting your caresses? He actually bit me -- twice -- when I made the mistake of letting my fingers linger too close to his mouth. Then he also kicked me dozens of times in order for me to let him go, and when I tried to give him his baby bottle for the first time, he started crying and shrieking at me.” He paused, looking torn. “And still I love him, strangely enough.”

“That hardly means he doesn’t like you,” the psychiatrist argued as he lifted Megaplex in one arm and started to hand him back to Megatron. “Many Sparklings are fussy and sometimes ill-tempered, even with their own Creators.”

“He is ill-tempered with me all the time,” Megatron said. “I honestly think that he hates me, and I don’t know why.” 

The little grey mechling purred housely as Rung and Spock cuddled him, “He seems happy to me.” 

“He would. He likes you, and likes the attention you are giving him. I haved that about some of the bornlings. They have our preferences.” 

Rung gave him a strange look. “Please elaborate.” 

“For example...Typhoon will do anything for Tailgate’s attention, much like Cyclonus,” Megatron said. “I won’t lie, I am interested in you, and Megaplex clearly is as well.” 

Rung pulled his spectacles off, and pretended to clean them. “Megatron...” 

“Tell me you don’t feel the same.” 

“It is inappropriate.” 

Megatron made a snorting noise. “That is not an answer to my question, my dear doctor.” He looked almost resigned. “Very well, Rung.”

“Megatron?”

“You didn’t say ‘no’ right away, to which I’m happy. You dodged the question, of course, but I can always tell myself you’re only trying to be professional, something I always admired about you.” Rung blushed slightly. “Don’t answer me yet if you think a session isn’t the better place to hold a conversation of that nature, but be aware I won’t let the matter drop.”

“I know,” the orange mech whispered as he put his spectacles back on, hiding his optics away once more. “Thank you for not pursuing the matter. As for Megaplex…” He coughed. “I trust his behavior will improve with socialization. Just because he may have inherited your feelings toward certain mechs doesn’t mean those feelings will last. He’s a Sparkling, which means he has a lot of processor space open to development as he experiences new things and meet new mechs.”

“If you say so,” Megatron grunted. “Worse case scenario, he will develop an obsession with your son.”

Rung gave him a look. “That’s not funny. Is there… something else you want to talk about?”

Megatron hummed thoughtfully. “Well… For someone who is so upstuck about what is ‘inappropriate’, how come you actually like Rodimus?”

The psychiatrist had to blink. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

The grey mech snorted again. “Please, that mech is the very definition of ‘inappropriate’!”

“Rodimus is Rodimus. He has his charms,” Rung said, “And...he is a good mech. He tries very hard.” 

Megatron vented a snort. “I suppose he does. His trying usually culminates in disaster. Look what all he has done since he took this mission.” 

“I think you are, perhaps, a bit hard on him,” Rung said carefully. 

“Always so careful to tiptoe around the subject. It is fine, Rung. You do not have to worry about hurting my feelings.” Megatron barked a laugh, “You are one of the few mechs that would care about such a thing. My feelings that is. Few mechs thing of me like that...as an actual mecha and not a monster.” 

“We have all done bad things, Megatron.” 

“There is that,” Megatron said. “You less so than others of our kind.”

“Even I,” Rung said. He looked down at the sparklings and pet their plating gently. “It was a long war, after all, and even medics, who should have stayed out of the fighting and not be targeted for elimination by the other side, had to pick up weapons to defend themselves. Even psychiatrists,” he added with a faint, sad smile as the two Sparklings cuddled and leaned readily into his touch.

“You were defending yourself; hardly anyone can fault you for shooting at an aggressor.”

“But nobody forced me to take lethal shots,” Rung quietly argued back. “In some cases, it wasn’t even necessary, and I still did. It’s… nevermind,” he shook his head. “It’s hardly the matter at hand here. I would hardly be good at my job if I wasn’t a good listener and if I didn’t know how to be considerate of my patients’ feelings, no matter who those patients are. That includes you, just like it includes Rodimus.”

Megatron raised an optics ridge. “He confides in you, truly? He hardly seems the type to have insecurities or psychological problems -- asides of the obvious, of course. I wonder what he might be boasting about during your sessions, then; the numbers of mechs he managed to get in his berth?”

Rung gave him an unamused look, almost poking in Megaplex’ optic by accident as he raised his head to look at the former warlord. “Sorry sweetling,” he muttered as an excuse. “Now you’re really unfair, Megatron. Plus I can hardly comment on it, as whatever Rodimus says in session is private. That said…” he paused, light reflecting on his spectacles. “He did seem to have picked a recent issue with you.”

Now it was Megatron’s turn to blink. “A recent issue? What did I do?... Oh,” he muttered, thinking back about his brief encounter with the Lost Light’s Co-Captain over their need to ‘scratch a mutual itch’. The look on Rodimus’ face when he had accepted… “He didn’t think I would, he told me so himself. Did it shock him that much?”

“Mmmmm...I don’t think shock is the word. You don’t know him as well as you think you do, Megatron. I can promise you that,” Rung said carefully. 

Megatron frowned at him, “Perhaps. I can’t say that we have had any long, personal conversations.” He wiggled in his seat. The mech had been a good frag but that was not something he was going to tell Rung. Especially not since he wanted said mech in his own berth. “Maybe I will give him a chance.” 

“It would be kind of you,” Rung murmured. He pulled the sparklings closer, rocking them. It made Megaplex burble happily, and snuggle closer.

“I’m not a kind mech, Rung. I thought we had established that.” Megatron watched his sparkling intently, and battered down a flare of jealousy. He did not even know if it was aimed towards Rung or Megaplex. Not that he planned to ponder the matter too much; jealousy aimed at Rung because his own son seemed to prefer him was one thing, but being jealous of a mere Sparkling because Rung was focused on him implied far more serious problems.

Ugh. Perhaps he ought to talk with Cyclonus; the purple mech faced the same problem, was he not? And Primus only knew how many other mechs onboard.

“You’re kinder than you would like to tell yourself,” the orange mech smiled faintly, and Megatron wondered if it was his imagination or if Rung’s cheeks were actually a shade darker than earlier. “That said, I’m afraid our appointment is coming to an end.”

The grey mech crushed a wave of disappointment. “Already?”

“Sadly, yes. I’m receiving another patients in 10 kliks and I need time to order my files before he’s in.” Rung rubbed the back of his helm, obviously embarrassed. “With our most recent happening, I’m more and more busy. Many mechs are having questions on their bitlets or about themselves, and of course I’m doing my best to assist. It forces me to cut my appointments short for the time being, but we can always reschedule another one… if you wish so, of course?”

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate with how I feel about you,” Megatron said. “I would much rather see you in a less...formal situation,” Megatron said as he stood. He crossed the space between them and picked up Megaplex, who squealed and tried to struggle out of Megatron’s grip, reaching for Rung.

“Megatron---I---I’m your therapist. I really don’t think---” 

“Then I am firing you.” Megatron said, finally pulling Megaplex close. The sparkling scowled, and then pouted when that did not work. He slapped at Megatron’s armour ineffectual. “Will you just give it a chance, please? I’m not passed begging.” 

“You don’t have to beg,” Rung said. “Ethically it’s...”

“I don't care, Rung. You are the only psychologist on board. Are you supposed to isolate yourself from everyone? I don't see the medics doing the same.” Megatron cajoled. 

Rung coughed. “That’s hardly the same thing; they’re more numerous, and they are actually avoiding relationships with patients they’re regularly operating on…”

“Oh yes, and I’m sure Ratchet and Drift have a strictly professional relationship,” the grey mech snorted as he tried to keep a steady hold on the still wriggling Megaplex, who was trying to make desperate efforts to escape him and rush back to Rung. Funnily enough, Spock as also attempting to wriggle out of Rung’s hold, pouting and reaching helplessly for Megaplex. Megatron had to suppress a smile, for it did show that in a way, Rung also had feelings toward him. Somewhat.

“This is very different,” the psychiatrist insisted again. “They’re not actually a couple…”

“And I keep wondering why one of them hasn’t jumped the other yet; it’s obvious there is something between them and it’s turning into sexual frustration! Autobots are so complicated, and becoming one didn’t help Deadlock. Decepticons want to frag someone, they frag,” he grunted before he realized what he had just said. Judging by Rung’s heated face, he had just said too much.

“As… fascinating as it is,” the orange mech coughed, “the fact remains I can’t positively answer to someone’s attentions, as desperately as I wish to, so long that person is my patient, if only so I can stay objective when dealing with them in session. If we find a way to recruit another therapist and I can transfer primary care, then perhaps it could be envisaged.”

“... you’re a very frustrating ‘bot, you know that?”

Rung’s lips curled into a little, self-deprecating smile, “I know.” 

“As desperately as you want to?” Megatron grinned wolfishly as he watched Rung’s faceplates heat even more. “I can work with that. Don’t worry. I will find someone willing to sign up and take your place.” 

“T-that is a lot of effort to go for a casual fling,” Rung said. 

“Who said anything about a casual fling?” Megatron said, and stared down at Rung. He hitched Megaplex onto his hip making the sparkling sigh heavily and finally give up on his escape attempt. 

Rung’s ventilation hitched. He didn’t have a ready answer for that. “I didn’t mean to offend you---I didn’t mean to imply---” 

“It’s fine,” Megatron said, and watched the orange mech intently. “I suppose I merited that remark; it isn’t as if I had a long, steady relationship with anyone before -- at least not since the start of the war. And I admit that lovers I took were casual flings and stress reliefs for the most part, Case in point with…” he paused, feeling mentioning Rodimus now would be a mistake, although Rung probably knew full well it hadn’t held any deeper meaning for him. For the Co-Captain, though… who knew? He coughed. “Anyway, it doesn’t mean I’m not capable of commitment, especially with a mech who has my full interest.”

Megaplex gave an angry chirp, making Megatron look down at him. “Hush, the adults are speaking,” he chided, only for the grey mechling to frown and glare at him. “I have to ask, do I really look like that when I’m contraried?” he asked casually.

“Mostly, though not as cute,” Rung found himself saying before he could stop himself, hiding his mouth behind his hand when he realized so.

Thankfully, it only made Megatron boom with laughter as he rose from his seat. “I’ll keep it in mind, Rung.”

“What are you plans for today, now the appointment is over?” the psychiatrist questioned as he calmed a still fussy Spock, obviously still distressed to see his new friend go.

“No idea. Perhaps I’ll drop by Magnus’ office. Apparently, he’s trying to set up a daycare of sort. I’ll see if I can help with the planning, if anything.”

“You know the daycare was a suggestion from Rodimus, right?”

Megatron froze, and stared at Rung like he had grown a second helm. “You are joking? Right?” 

Rung laughed at the expression that creeped onto Megatron’s faceplates, and clamped his hand over his mouth for a second time. This was getting ridiculous. “No. I’m not joking. Not in the least. He suggested it to Magnus. He’s...really very earnest about wanting to provide for the sparklings. It’s rather commendable. That he has stepped up, I mean. There are some mechs I worry about their ability to care for their sparklings… Rodimus is not one of them.” 

“Am I?” 

“No, Megatron, you are not. It’s very obvious you are trying.” Rung stood, holding Spock close to him. “I’m not worried about that at all. You seem to have things well in hand.” 

Megaplex squealed, suddenly leaning forward to grab for Rung. Megatron caught him easily and pulled the fussy sparkling close, “Perhaps.” His lips quirked up briefly. “Why am I surprised, after all? For all intents and purposes, our dear Rodimus is like an overgrown Sparkling himself.”

“That’s not very nice,” Rung frowned.

“But it is, I assure you,” Megatron retorted. “It’s no wonder he’s so good with Sparklings and so invested in them; he must be finding himself right at home with them -- they don’t judge him, don’t expect anything from him but hugs, cuddles, treats and toys.” That made him pause.

“Speaking of toys… didn’t I heard something about BRAINSTORM being allowed to make them?” He couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. Rung fiddled with his spectacles in answer.

“Didn’t I heard you were supposed to do storytelling for the bornlings?” he replied, and Megatron paused, cheeks slightly darkening. Slag. He had forgotten about it.

“I’ve heard a vague proposition, based on my supposed ‘talents’ for captivating the bitlets’ attention; I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

“Are you actually considering it?” Rung asked. “I mean to say I think you would be very good at it.” 

Megatron’s lip twitched up into a half-smile. “You think so?” He moved closer, ignoring Megaplex’s whining and further efforts to grab the orange mech. “Rung?” 

“Yes, Megatron, I honestly do. Primus’ honor.” He raised his hand as if to touch Megatron, realized what it was doing before letting it drop. “I do.” 

Megatron hummed in appreciation, “I might do it then. If you think it is a wise proposition.” 

He reached out and touched Rung’s cheek plating. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“For having faith in me.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chromedome bounced his bornling on his leg making Tumbler squeal with delight. The sparkling did not have Chromedome’s visor or mask and his little face scrunched up in delight. 

“He’s such a happy little thing, Chromey,” Rewind said. His own little snuggled against his chestplates, optics wide and blinking as he took in the bar around them. He was a quiet thing, and a quarter of the size of Tumbler. 

“Mmmm...he is,” Chromedome agreed, a smile in his voice. “Very much so. Hey, what do you think about the list UM put up? I was thinking maybe we should volunteer.” 

“Really?” Rewind asked in surprise. “Guess it wouldn’t be so bad. I could take vids of the bornlings. Most of their creators would like the memento don’t you think?” 

“Most certainly,” Chromedome nodded. He looked down at Tumbler, head tilted. “It’s funny how something so tiny might grown up to be our size, don’t you think? All those changes they’re going to go through before they get to be, well, us.”

“Which is why getting pictures and mementos should appeal,” Rewind nodded before he started to chuckle. “Well, I suppose Perceptor will refer to it as ‘collecting research material.”

“Quite possibly; he’s so… uptight,” the mnemosurgeon agreed before he put Tumbler in the makeshift playpen Swerve had installed for clients desiring to take a drink without having to keep their bitlets in their lap. “Oy, Swerve, what can you offer to you thirsty customers?” he called out as he sat on a stool right next to the playpen, waving at Tumbler to show he wasn’t getting anywhere. His mini-copy was soon distracted by the greeting chirps of three other Sparklings already in the pen. Rewind sat next on the next stool with his own Sparkling still nestled against his chest. “You don’t intend to let Replay down?”

Rewind shook his head. “He’s so little, I’m afraid the others accidentally roughhouse him.”

“He is tiny,” Chromedome said. “But...I don’t think they would hurt him. He probably should socialize. From what Nautica said it is very important for bornlings.” 

Rewind frowned behind his mask, “I don't want him to get hurt.” He made no move to put the sparkling down, if anything he held him closer making Replay chirp softly. 

“Getting hurt is part of growing up,” Chromedome said. “But...I really don’t think---” 

“Stop it. I don't want to put him down,” Rewind hissed. Replay startled, letting out a little whimper of distress at his carriers distress. The hiss took Chromedome by surprise and he backed away slightly, blinking.

“I didn’t meant to offend,” Chromedome replied softly. “You know it, right, love?” He reached out to gently stroke Replay’s helm, finding himself relieved when Rewind let him. For a moment, he had almost feared his Conjunx Endura wouldn’t allow him to; whenever Replay was concerned, Rewind seemed to change into a Cyber-Wolf, prompt to bare his dental plates.

His lover’s shoulders sagged. “Sorry,” he murmured, gently bouncing Replay to calm him down. “I know they wouldn’t hurt him -- not on purpose anyway. But the mere thought I might lose him, like I lost…” he paused, unsure, and Chromedome felt his Spark sink. Sometimes, he could almost forget this Rewind had lived through one of the DJD’s butcheries and lose so many people… including a Chromedome.

“I understand,” the mnemosurgeon murmured softly, gently squeezing Rewind’s hand in his.

Rewind trembled, his armour clattering for a brief moment before his got ahold of himself. He squeezed Chromedome’s hand, “I just---sometimes---” 

“I understand, love. You don’t have to explain yourself,” Chromedome said gently. “I really do understand. I lost you once. I---I know you are just scared, but you have to think of what is best for him.” 

Rewind looked down at the little bornling. Replay blinked up at him, his optics were bright and blue. “You are right. He should learn to socialize.” With great reluctance he got up and put Replay into the playpen. The little mech crawled over to Tumbler and cuddled against him. Rewind didn’t quite sigh in relief as the other Sparklings just circled around the two bitlets at a safe distance, obviously curious but not coming any closer. They beeped and chirped while Replay just snuggled, ignoring them for the time being.

“See? Everything is going well,” Chromedome smiled behind his mask, putting a soothing hand on his partner’s shoulder. Rewind just hummed, not fully reassured; Replay was so tiny, even next to Tumbler, who wasn’t so big to begin with. And one of the other Sparkling was quite large… Part of him wanted to reach out and pick Replay back up immediately, but Chromedome was gently tugging at his shoulders to get him to go sit back and, with an heavy Spark, he obeyed, stealing little glances at Replay every few kliks.

“Don’t be so tense, nothing bad will happen to your bitlet,” Swerve suddenly swooped in as he appeared behind the counter, cleaning an empty cube. “Scout honor!”

Chromedome blinked. “Since when did you serve as a Scout? And where were you until now? I called you ages ago!”

“It’s a saying,” the Minibot corrected. “As for where I was, in the background and attempting to settle Zigzag down for his nap -- which sadly didn’t work,” he sighed as he turned. Chromedome and Rewind both blinked as they discovered the giggling Sparkling strapped down in a harness on the barmech’s back.

“Well… that’s definitely new,” Chromedome finally commented. “Where did you get that harness? And are you sure it’s good for the Sparkling?”

“I couldn’t keep him in the playpen all the time, and I need my hands free to serve the clients; what else was I supposed to do?” Swerve shrugged, “Perceptor made it anyways and I asked Ratchet about it. He didn’t seem to think it was a bad idea. Nautica said that they used something similar in Caminus but with magnets. Which is kinda funny. Can you imagine UM with his sparklings stuck to him?” 

Chromedome shook his helm, “No...I guess I can’t. So...how are you holding up anyways?” 

Swerve slumped a bit, “Okay I guess. Zigzag is just very mobile. He gets into everything. He even managed to escaped the playpen the last two times I left him in it. I caught him crawling in the hallway.” 

“Oh. Wow, really?” Rewind asked, his optics moving over to Replay to make sure he was still there. They had not moved though, and Replay seemed to be drifting off into recharge...which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “We have a little escape king then?”

“Sounds like it,” Swerve grimaced as he put down the newly cleaned cube. “And trust me, it’s no good for my processors; I keep waking up at night, panicked he somehow managed to get out of the room despite the locks. He sure has no problem getting out of his bassinet and crawling on the floor, and he’s fast. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s part racer.”

“Wow. How do you even manage?”

“By making sure he’s safe in his harness,” the barmech replied. “So, what do you wish to drink?”

“Ah...that usual,” Chromedome said. “Just some midgrade, and some rust sticks.” 

“It’s kinda odd that he’s so fast,” Rewind said. “I mean, no offence, but you are not a racer.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Swerve shrugged and went off to get their engex. Zigzag wiggled in this harness trying to squirm right out of it. Luckily it held him fast. He huffed and whined, but didn’t cry out either, which was surprising to Rewind. 

“He’s kinda adorable,” Rewind said, and tilted his helm to the side. The light on his helm flashed red.

“You say that about all the bornlings we’ve seen,” Chromedome pointed out. 

“They are though,” Rewind said. “I can’t say I’ve seen an ugly one. Wow...did you see Whirl’s sparkling?” 

“You bet I did! He’s like, the center of attention wherever he goes -- or rather, wherever he goes, Whirl spends his time putting him under everyone’s olfactive sensor, and you just know he’s grinning the way his optic lights up. I admit, the bitlet is cute and it makes you wonder about Whirl’s true face,” Swerve commented as he versed the two midgrade cubes he had been requested.

“That’s right. Speaking of Whirl’s bitlet, did he find him a name yet?” Rewind asked as he reached for his drink, not without stealing a glance toward Replay; the Sparkling had uncurled from Tumbler and was now slowly crawling around the playpen, followed at a respectable distance by the other Sparklings in a line. “Oh Primus, aren’t they adorable?”

“Totally,” Chromedome nodded. “Now would be a good time to start taking those records, no?” he nudged his Conjunx Endura, who nodded.

“On it already,” Rewind replied.

“”Oh,” Chromedome laughed, “Guess it is. You know...I did hear about Whirl naming his sparkling Orbit. Cute name too, don’t you think.” 

Rewind smiled under his mask, but he didn’t move his attention from the sparklings. “It is. It’s good that the sparkling didn’t---you know.” 

“Yeah. I know. I don't’ think it would be fair for another generation to be punished by the Functionalists,” Chromedome said. 

Rewind was quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching on between them. “It is a relief. They caused a lot of pain. You know...yeah...it makes me want to purge thinking about it.” 

“I know,” Chromedome whispered. He reached out, and placed a hand on Rewind’s backplating. “They are safe though. OUR sparklings are safe! I think that is what matters, don’t you?” 

“I guess… but can we truly sure Whirl’s case wasn’t a fluke?” Rewind asked in a low voice as he continued recording the Sparklings’ every move with his optical band. Chromedome squeezed his hand almost painfully. “Nothing about our Carrying cycles were normal, after all. There’s nothing to say other Empurata mechs trying to reproduce will give birth to normal, Empurata free Sparklings.”

The thought was disquieting, and Chromedome bit his lips behind the mask. Swerve sighed heavily as he leaned over the counter.

“Aren’t you a cheerful fellow? Can’t you just be happy they’re alright or, I don’t know, crazy with worriness or freaking out about being a Creator and having a tiny Sparkling to care for like the normal members of the crew do?”

“Because you still think there is someone normal on this ship?” Rewind replied matter of factly, prompting a laugh out of his mate.

“Well, you still have a sense of humor; I was starting to wonder.”

Rewind shrugged, “It’s a wonder I do, all things considered.” 

“That’s all over. You’re safe, and yeah we have sparklings to raise,” Chromedome said. He noticed Rewind bristle, and threw an arm around his waist, pulling him into his lap. “I don't mean to belittle what happened, but we need to move on. Clinging to the past isn’t going to help either of us. I don’t want to dwell on losing you. It was...it was the worse thing I’ve ever had happen to me.” 

“So serious,” Swerve groaned, “Maybe you should both see Rung. “Obviously so issues still going on there.” 

Rewind rolled his optics behind the visor, “Thanks for the concern, Swerve. Thanks a lot.” 

“Hey, hey! Don’t get all defensive. I’m just saying. You should talk to him.” 

“We’ll think about it,” the Cassette muttered as he cut the recording and turned back to the bar. He grabbed his cube and downed half of it in one go, almost choking as he did. Chromedome patted him in the back gently.

“Careful,” he teased, chuckling at the brief flash of Rewind’s optical band. He glanced back at Tumblr and Replay; while Replay was continuing to crawl about, Tumbler seemed happy to just sit in the middle of the park. The expression on his face was peculiar though, but one Chromedome was starting to recognize everywhere. “Uh oh. Swerve? Do you have baby bottles by any chance?” he asked as casually as he could.

The red and white ‘bot huffed. “Who do you take me for? Of course I do,” he said has he ducked under the counter. “Here. You’re in luck, Perceptor delivered them to me this morning. Bitlet’s hungry?”

“If he’s not yet, he should be soon,” Chromedome confirmed as Swerve ducked under the counter again and took out an enormous bottle filled with clear energex.

Swerve laughed, “Yeah, that is the way of it I guess. It’s about Zigzag’s feeding time too. Bitty requires so much fuel. A lot more than I thought he would have.” 

“He is pretty active,” Chromedome said, and watched the sparkling wiggle about. “Tumbler isn’t. He’s so easygoing. It’s a bit of a blessing.” Almost on cue Tumblr started to whimper, and the whimper turned into a cry before Chromedome could scoop him up. As soon as the sparkling was in his arms the sparkling latched onto his wrist trying to feed. He grabbed the bottle on the counter, and offered it to the bornling, but he seemed reluctant to accept it. 

“What’s wrong bitty?” Chromedome asked, optics dimming as he tried unsuccessfully to give Tumbler the bottle again. The little Sparkling just frowned and tried to push it away with his small hand, whimpering. “Yum yum,” he tried again, moving to push the rubber teat in his Sparkling’s mouth. Tumbler just whimpered louder, oily tears starting to roll down his cheeks. “Oh nonononono, don’t cry!”

“Are you sure the fuel formula is adapted for a bitlet, Swerve?” Rewind asked worriedly as Chromedome tried to calm down the whiny Sparkling.

“Certain; it came straight up from Percy’s lab, and Zigzag and a bunch of other Sparklings drunk it all day without a problem,” the Minibot piped as he eyed Tumbler thoughtfully. Finally, he snorted. “You know what? I think we have a gourmet here.”

“A gourmet?” Chromedome repeated stupidly as he still tried to calm the bitlet.

“He doesn’t want a formula, he wants the real stuff out of the line,” Swerve explained. “Ravage’s kittens from the Pit are like that; they want to suck his teats and refuse to even lap in a bowl. I think we got a few other cases registered -- I know Drift is facing the same problem.”

“But what do I do then? He accepted the bottles just fine before! And I don’t have ‘teats’!” Chromedome blurted out.

“Yeah, but you have fuel transmission lines, don’t you? They should work. As to why he doesn’t want the bottle anymore… Well, everyone develops different tastes, I guess,” the barmech shrugged.

“Yeah, I do. You think that is what he wants?” He frowned at the and fiddled with the line, releasing it from it’s protective casing. Tumbler latched onto the line as soon as it was exposed, his sharp, little denta pressing against the line. Chromedome let out a little surprised squeak. “Oh, that feels...weird.” 

“Bad weird?” Rewind asked. 

“No, not at all. Just...odd,” he said and felt the pull of energon out of his systems. Tumbler crooned to himself, his little hands kneaded the metal beneath them. “Not really painful, but...yeah. It’s not comfortable. Tumbler seems to like it though.” 

Replay had finally stopped crawling, and let out a whimper. Rewind hurried over, scooping up the tiny sparkling and cuddling him. “Do you have any smaller bottles?” 

“I do, just give me a klik to get it ready,” Swerve said. He dug under the counter, humming cheerfully as he foraged and pushed empty cubes and glasses asides. “What size do you wish?” he asked as he set several baby bottles on the counter, making Rewind blink.

“When you said you had smaller bottles, I hadn’t expected you to pull out bottles that could be suitable for organics,” he commented as he took one in his hand. Even for him, it was small; what could a bitlet take from it, a mouthful?

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Swerve mentioned as he continued to set bottles of varying size on the counter, shaking his head. “Not sure what Percy was thinking, but I bet he wanted to be thorough -- or he’s doing a test run, who know? We got some tiny specimens on board, after all.”

“Still…” the other mech shook his head before scanning the display and selecting a bottle he found suitable. “This one, please.”

“You got it, my mech,” the barmech chirped as he pushed asides the remaining baby bottle save Rewind’s choice and another, a little bigger, that he probably destined to Zigzag.

Swerve prepared the bottle, and handed it over to Rewind. “Thanks,” he said and offered it to Replay. The bornling latched onto it nearly immediately. Rewind cooed down at him. 

“You look so cute like that,” Chromedome said, watching him. 

Rewind laughed, and smiled behind his mask, “Aw Domey.” He ducked his helm. 

Chromedome laughed, “It’s just the truth. My mechs are completely adorable.”

*************

Getting the paint was surprisingly easy. He had traded a couple of old datapads with Perceptor for them, but the mech would not paint his bornlings. Ravage did not want to press the issue. He didn’t want a bad paint job inflicted on them. At the moment he had a tiny dot of paint on each of their helms to help tell them apart. Otherwise they are identical. They all had the same black plating and the same gold optics. 

There was only one mech that he trusted on board to actually do right by his bornlings, but getting the mech to agree was going to be tricky. 

They finally arrived at their destination. He pinged for entrance, but it was some minutes before Sunstreaker finally answered the door. He looked harried. “What do you want?” 

Ravage paused, raising an optic ridge at the state of the normally immaculate yellow mech. Sunstreaker was known to be rather vain -- Pit, it was an euphemism! -- and as such to take very good care of himself, always sporting an immaculate paintjob and a spotless finish, unless he was coming straight-out of the battle field. Which he did, sort of.

Multiple little scratches littered his frames, especially around his ankles and up to his knees. A few even run alongside his forearms, as if tiny, clawed hands had tried to grab him only to let their hold slip. More worrisome though was the large, yet to be cleared spot of half-processed energon on the yellow mech’s chest.

“Sparkling purged?” he enquired politely, letting a tiny drop of sympathy in his voice and EM field. He had yet to experiment the problem with his own mini-copies, but he had seen the aftermath of such an unpleasant process often enough by now to recognize the mess.

Sunstreaker groaned, shoulders sagging. “What make you say that?” he asked sarcastically as chirps erupted around his ankles and several of optics darted off from behind long yellow legs. Surprised, one of Ravage’s ‘kitten’ took two steps forward, purring curiously. Ravage immediately bolted and grabbed him by the scruff bar and away from the ground before the first buglet had dared to brave Sunstreaker’s legs and come sniffing his Creation. Not fools, the other two kittens immediately hide behind their Carrier.

“They wouldn't hurt them, frag. They are gentle with Helios. What do you want, Ravage?” Sunstreaker said, sounding annoyed. 

Ravage gently put Jaguar down. The bitlet huddled against him. “I wanted to employ your service. Two of my sparklings need painted.” 

“Right to the point, huh? That isn’t like you.” Sunstreaker looked down at his nose at him. 

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m kinda busy.” 

“I could help you,” Ravage said. “I mean with the bitlets. Give you a bit of a break?”

Sunstreaker opened his mouth, and then barked a laughed, “Why not. Do you have paint?” 

“I have some electric paint in my subspace.” 

Sunstreaker nodded, “Sure. Let me get my airbrush, and check my equipment over. Haven’t used it in a while.” He steps away from the door to let Ravage in. 

Ravage hesitated, opting the insecticons.

“Hurry up. I don't want to have to chase them down the hall again.” 

Reluctantly, Ravage moved forward, his three bornlings trailing after him or ducking between his paws, making questioning chirps as Sunstreaker obligingly moved aside to let them enter -- though he kept a leg through the door, stopping any escape attempt from the tiny Insecticons who were practically bouncing in place at the sight of the newcomers. Ravage was quick to put a paw over the tail of the very adventurous Jaguar as he tried to run forward in excitement.

“Calm down, little one,” he scoffed as the kitty whined.

“I told you they wouldn’t hurt them,” Sunstreaker scoffed as he closed the door behind them. “Besides, if you watch over them, then you’ll be forced to let them play together; better let them mix up already and play.”

“I’ll be judge of it after I get a good sniff at them,” Ravage commented, tail moving in agitation as he watched the four identical buglets circling around them, little afts waving in the air as they seemed ready to pounce -- quickly imitated in that by Ravage’s three kittens.

“Careful, not sure how Bob will take that,” the yellow mech cautioned.

“Well, he will have to get used to me if I’m going to watch them,” Ravage replied snarkily. 

“True enough,” Sunstreaker said. He crossed the room to a cabinet and took out his art supplies, carrying them over to a table. Ravage sat down and watched the mech move with half of his attention. The other fact was fixed on his bornlings. They chased the little insecticons around the room, until they pounced on them, and then the roles were reversed. It was, actually, pretty amusing to watch. 

Bob shuffled out from under the berth and watched the bitlets play, occasionally making a grumbling noise. 

For the most part Ravage payed him no mind. He instead watched Sunstreaker assemble his equipment, and test the pressure of the air brush. 

“Have you thought about what you want?” 

“A full painting on one. To Blue and White, and white markings on the other.” 

Sunstreaker nodded, “Well, I’m ready for the first one.” He eyed the trio of kittens with a smirk. “So, who will you send?”

For all answer, Ravage grabbed the first one who passed near him, stopping him with his paw before grabbing him by the scruff bar and jumping on the table, mindful of not disturbing Sunstreaker’s art furniture. He let go gently of the kitten, who mewled, and discharged his subspace, letting the yellow mech take the pots of paint.

“Hmm, standard quality, nothing exceptional,” he mumbled as he took one to examine it closer, looking vaguely disappointed -- obviously, working with what he deemed substandard products hurt his artistic sense. “A single layer might not be sufficient if they’re up to has much running and scratching as Bob’s buglets. Want me to put on a extra layer or two?”

“If it pleases you so… and assuming Savage wants to cooperate,” the felinoid replied as the kitten sat on his aft, head tilted as he stared at Sunstreaker’s furniture.

“Savage, eh? Cute name,” Sunstreaker snickered. “Not having too much trouble telling them apart?”

“Why do you think I’m asking for a repaint?” Ravage replied, annoyed. “And yourself, you don’t have trouble telling the whole bunch apart?”

“Oh, I’m not even trying anymore most of the time,” the yellow mech waved. “I just call them ‘the brood’ and let Bob handle them for the most part; taking care of Helios is already time-consuming enough.”

“Helios?”

Sunstreaker nodded toward his berth, where an hint of yellow plating could be see emerging from a nest of blankets and pillows. “Sparkling can sleep through anything, I swear; he has been napping for a whole megacycle and not even the brood making random objects fall on the floor managed to wake him up.”

“I’m glad there was only one, I was honestly expecting twins,” Sunstreaker said. “He’s a good bit though. He recharges well, doesn’t fuss, but it is what it is. It’s rough watching all of them, and Bob too.” 

“Sounds stressful,” Ravage said

Sunstreaker started to fill the first canister with the paint that Ravage provided. “Yeah you could say that.” He looked down at the kitten, “How do you feel about white with blue leg markings, and maybe Blue highlights?” 

“That sounds good,” Ravage said, and watched Sunstreaker as he went to work. The mech worked fast, and maneuvered the confused little bitling around, painting a first coat of white. 

“It is at least quick drying,” Sunstreaker said. “I don’t think it would survive drying otherwise.”

Ravage laughed, “Probably not. They are very...active.” 

“I bet; do they even let you recharge at night?” the yellow mech asked as he gently chided the kitten and made him turn in order to repaint a small area where the coat wasn’t uniform and the black plating was still peeking through.

“They do, though they can’t seem to be able to recharge without suckling first,” the felinoid replied, tail beating the air in agitation and mortification as he remembered his reaction the first time it had happened. Now, he had always known he had rubber teats running under his plating, down the length of his chests -- an unfortunate side-effect of having a beast-form meant he was equipped with most, if not all the attributes of his wild, look-alike brethren -- but never before had they been of any use, and he had almost forgotten about them altogether. Would have, if they hadn’t been part of his mandatory check-ups once in awhile.

Having his newly emerged Mini-copies mewl in binary as they stumbled around, still wet with the birthing fluids, had been hard to swallow to begin with for Ravage, but when they had started to paw at him chest and belly and the plating had obligently slide aside, revealling six teats full of processed energon on which they had immediately latched, had probably been the weirdest moment of his life. Then only kliks later, his latent Cougaraider’s instinct had perked up and he had found himself cleaning them up with his glossa, thus forcing Ravage to rework his scale of ‘weirdest thing ever’.

“I can return the question,” he drawled after shaking his head, watching as Sunstreaker took a tiny paw in his large hand to apply even more white paint on them. “You share your living space with a Sparkling and five Insecticons -- do you even HAVE the time to recharge?”

Sunstreaker snorted, “Not well. Helios recharges through the night, but the hoard are up and down. They think that the middle of my recharge cycle is the best time to play. They get the zoomies at all hours. So, no. Not well in the least. I’m not going to lie. I’m exhausted all the time.” 

“Sounds miserable.” 

“I don't know. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I never thought it would be feasible for me to foster a new spark. Never was respectable enough at my best, and Sides didn’t have any interest in that sort of thing,” Sunstreaker said. “I never thought I would be able to, but I wanted to.” 

“That would explain the bug. Frag you are soft,” Ravage snickered. “Never thought I would say that to the likes of you.” 

Sunstreaker shrugged. “Can’t say that I care what anyone thinks. I love my family.” There was an underlying threat in his voice, one Ravage took notice on and wisely decided not to comment further on the admission, or tease Sunstreaker about being a ‘softie’... too much. “So, where do you want the blue on him?”

“I’m not too sure,” Ravage admitted. He hadn’t come up with a precise paint scheme in his CPU, after all. At most, he had wanted to make the three kittens look different from each other for better identification. They were copies of him, and as such they all shared his odor, and their respective EM fields were too similar for him to pick them apart without a moment to puzzle out which one belonged to whom. “Do whatever you feel is best, I guess?”

“The legs, then,” Sunstreaker nodded thoughtfully, considering the blue can before he sighed. “Too dark; I need a clearer shade.” Even as he spoke, he was already working on the mix, versing the remaining white pain in the blue.

“Why the legs?”

“Because they’ll offer a nice contrast. I’d suggest painting his personal weapons the same shade of blue as well when he’ll be grown enough to have them. And perhaps change his optical sensors for another color. Hmm, yes, yellow would suit his new colors better.” He hummed, obviously working things up nicely in his mind.

“Duly noted,” the felinoid drawled, “but you’ll excuse me if I don’t follow your recommendations.”

“It is at your discretion, of course. I am just say that it would look good,” Sunstreaker said. He shrugged, and finally finished mixing up the blue. It was more of a sky blue at this point, leaning towards baby blue. “Oh, that is much better.” He added some thinner, then transferred the paint to a canister and began to add on the markings. It really did look much better than the paint that Ravage had brought. He painted the little felinoid, painting his legs, and highlights on his body until it all blended into a coherent whole. “Oh that is perfect.” 

“You used all of the paint though,” Ravage said. 

“Meh, I have more. I was thinking...how do you feel about dark grey on the other?” Sunstreaker asked, and went back to his art cabinet, producing a tub of grey paint. 

“I honestly don’t care,” Ravage said. “If they really hate it that can change it when they are older.” 

“Aren’t you an attentive ‘mommy’,” Sunstreaker snorted as he weighed and compared two cans of grey before discarding them altogether, obviously unconvinced by the shades. Ravage eyed him weirdly as he got a good look at the cabinet’s content.

“Just how much paint have you stocked?”

“Enough to last me a while should I choose to start a new masterpiece or two,” the other mech answered levelly, nodding to himself as he found a can that seemed to have his favor. “Alright, let’s try this one. It’s naturally thick enough that I won’t have to do several coats in a row, and it’s just the right shade for what I’ve in mind.”

“Grey is grey, no?” the felinoid asked, gaining a pitying look in answer.

“You have no sense of color; sadly, I didn’t expect you to. Off from the table, you,” he gently poked at the now blue and white Cyberkitten, who glared at him before latching, all little fangs out, at his finger. Sunstreaker yelped.

Ravage chuckle, and nudged at the little cyberkitten until it let go of it’s prize. 

“Frag, he has sharp little fangs,” Sunstreaker said, and sucked on his finger until the energon congealed, sealing off the wound. 

“You find that surprising?” 

“Not really, given who their creators are. Your bark really is as bad as your bite,” Sunstreaker said. “And as for the colour, no, Grey is not grey. There are thousand and thousands of different shades. It does make a difference. You trust me though?” 

“With this if nothing else,” Ravage said. 

Sunstreaker snorted, “High praise, indeed.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you expecting me to be trust a former Autobot farther than I can throw him?” the felinoid inquired politely, though his tone was dry. “Especially when said Autobot shot at me more often than I care to remember?”

Sunstreaker winced briefly before he schooled his features in a neutral expression. “Fair enough, I suppose. Though to be honest, you were trying to kill me right back.” He eyed the cyberkitten before his optics trailed off to the blankets nest his mini-him was sleeping in. “Can’t say I’d be able to do it again. Not with the Sparklings involved,” he mumbled, shaking his head. With precise gestures, he opened the can. “Well? Who’s next?”

Ravage wordlessly nuzzled Savage before grabbing him by the scruff bar and gently lowering him to the floor, then grabbed the next cyberkitten passing by. “Jaguar,” he mumbled as he took the mewling, wriggling Sparkling to Sunstreaker. “I warn you, he’s an handful.”

“Worse than his siblings?”

“You have no idea.”

“Wonderful, “ Sunstreaker said and watched Ravage set the sparkling down. The little thing hissed at him and tried to dart away, before sinking it’s fangs into Sunstreaker’s hand. “Seriously?!”

Ravage laughed, “Told you he was a handful.”

Sunstreaker grunted and waited for the little beast to let go, but he didn’t, he clenched his jaws down harder. Sunstreaker finally gave up, and took the airbrush with his free hand and began to paint in earnest. “This one really has your sunny personality.” 

Ravage snickered. “Right.” 

“By the way, how did Soundwave take the news about being a ‘Grandpa’?” the yellow mech mentioned casually, though his optics shone with a wicked gleam, making Ravage’s audio receptors go flat against his helm as he groaned.

“I… may have not transmitted him the news yet.”

Sunstreaker blinked, almost letting the brush wander too far and smear his work -- but he was too professional to let it happen, and stopped himself just in time. “Seriously? Well, well, well… Someone is in for a shock,” he taunted as he resumed his work. “Won’t he just love it!”

Ravage’s tail twitched. “Because you have told your brother yet about his nephew, perhaps?” he snapped back, annoyed, and effectively making Sunstreaker’s jaws clench. “Plus, it’s not like Soundwave hasn’t been keeping a few secrets himself when it comes to his private life. Did you know he was pinning for some little, insignificant Autobot?”

This time, Sunstreaker couldn’t stop himself; the brush went farther than he wanted and he had to scramble to erase the trace. “What? Seriously?”

Ravage snorted, “Seriously.” 

“Uh...who? You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not deliver,” Sunstreaker said, and tried to concentrate on painting. He stopped altogether and stared at the cat. 

“The little round one. Minibot. Green and yellow,” Ravage said. 

Sunstreaker squinted, “You mean Cosmos? Really?” 

“Yeah. That is the one.” Ravage’s lips curled back in disgust. “I don't see the attraction, but Soundwave is mad about him. It’s pitiful.” 

Sunstreaker cycled his optics several times, “Are you pulling my cogs?” 

“Frag, no,” Ravage said. “I wish I was, honestly.” He twitched, tail batting the air. “Be lucky you only have a Twin instead of rooming with a telepath. Do you have any idea what it’s like when his dreams start filtering when he’s deep in recharge and his ‘talent’ goes rampant? Especially when he’s in the middle of THAT kind of dream? I had a processor-full of yellow and green more often than I would have liked.” He didn’t elaborate further, not wanting the cyberkittens and buglets to get too much information -- even if he was unsure just how much the whole brood understood of what was being said to them. Sunstreaker got his meaning alright, though, for he snorted in derision.

“Poor little thing. Trust me, having a Twin isn’t any better. That kind of dream? We share as well. Thankfully, it calmed down with the distance,” he shook his head, resuming his paint on the cyberkitten -- Jaguar, was it? -- who was still sinking his fangs in his hands without a care for the world. It made the yellow mech glad his plating was reinforced -- a necessary precaution he had taken early in the war to protect his digits -- and that the sting he felt could easily be ignored. He had suffered through worse, after all. “Cosmos,” he murmured. “Oooh, the betting pool I could end up winning with that intel…”

“If you do bet, give me a share,” the felinoid supplied, amused.

Sunstreaker cracked a smiled, “I could do that.” 

“Kind of you,” the cybercat laughed. “Mmm...you aren’t too bad for an Autobrat. What a pleasant surprise.” 

“Oh, the praise. I think I might faint from it,” he said. “Well...how does this look?” He moved his brush away from the kitten. 

“As nice as I imagined it would be.” 

There was a stirring on the other end, the mini-insecticons chirping loudly, then a cry as the mini-Sunstreaker woke up. Sunstreaker crossed the room, and picked up the sparkling. He cooed to him, rocking until he stopped crying. 

The buglets chittered, gathering around the yellow mech’s ankles and trying to climb on his legs while Bob entirely left the shelter of the berth, chirping as well. Obviously, little Helios was popular. Ravage and the cyberkitten just observed the display with polite curiosity as Sunstreaker gradually calmed down his son.

“I admit, I’m surprised,” Ravage mentioned as he moved to get a better look at the yellow mechling.

Sunstreaker glanced at him as Helios latched on one of his fingers, sucking on it eagerly -- which always puzzled Sunstreaker, because Helios never latched on the feeding line, just a random finger. Not that Sunstreaker really minded, but he needed his hands to himself, even if the act of sucking seemed to calm down his mini-copy better than the brood’s antics ever could.. He had already send a word to Perceptor regarding the issue, and the scientist had promised to look into creating a device. “What for?” he inquired.

“I had imagined him scowling as fiercely as you; I certainly didn’t expect him to look so… innocent.”

Sunstreaker raised a browplate. “I can assure you, it took a lifetime to cultivate my aura of disdain.” His lip quirked up. “Once, I believe I was innocent enough, perhaps even sweet.” 

Ravage looked up up and down. “I see. That is news to me.” 

“I wouldn't imagine otherwise. You didn’t know me when I was newly created. My brother and I lived in...we were created by a high caste mech. He fell on hard times and abandoned us. Before then though...before I found out that life was hard and no one would give me anything or care if I offlined I suppose I was an innocent as well.” 

“He left you?” 

“In Kaon. Not long after our final upgrades. It was terrifying at first,” Sunstreaker said. 

Ravage stared. “Kaon will make you hard. It is---was---a difficult place.” An understatement if he ever uttered one, but there were innocent audios around, and so he refrained from expressing his true feelings about the Pit-hole of a place aloud. His tail twitched in agitation as Sunstreaker snorted.

“‘Difficult’, yes. But thankfully, Helios will never experience that.” He looked down at the yellow mechling with a look that was both serious and adoring as the bitlet blinked innocently. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Ravage nodded slowly, looking down at his own Sparklings. The three cyberkittens were still sitting on their afts, head raised so they could look at what had their ‘playmates’ so excited. Ravage’s own life hadn’t been easy, and now that he thought about it, it scared him how easily he could make his mini-copies enjoy a better life than he either did… or suffer an even worse one.

He swallowed. Slag. Was that what being a Creator truly about? This impossibly heavy weight on your processor and Spark?

It was overwhelming at best knowing that he had the responsibility of these other lives. Not only overwhelming, but bordering on terrifying. He had always prided himself on his bravery and resilience. He would get them through it. “You are very dedicated to him.” 

“Of course I am. He is my responsibility. It is my job to keep him safe and make sure that he understands the weight of his choices. I want to be the creator my commissioner never was. I owe it to Helios, Ravage.”

“I never thought of it that way,” the cybercat said. His spark felt like it was squeezing inside of his chest, the weight nearly unbearable. 

Sunstreaker smiled down at Helios, “I do not understand what brought them into our lives, but I am so thankful for it.” He looked over at Ravage. “He was worth all of the pain I went through to get to where I am now.” 

Ravage snorted. “Pain? You birthed just one; try to birth three in a row, then you can speak about pain.” His tone was mellow though, as he glanced up at little Helios. The yellow mechling looked content, happy, utterly innocent; Primus only knew how long it would last, given how this ship and this crew seemed to attract troubles. How long his own Sparklings would remain so, for that matter?

“And I still wonder how you and Bob managed to end up with that many. I can eventually believe it about Magnus, but you?” the yellow mech shook his head in disbelief, not remarking on the felinoid’s last comment.

Ravage shrugged. “Some random coding would be my better guess. In the wild, I seriously doubt Insecticons carry a single offspring by cycle. Cougaraiders certainly don’t, and I’m considering myself lucky it was three Bitlets and not eight.” At Sunstreaker’s choked sound, he smirked. “It has been documented.”

“Good to know if this happens again,” Sunstreaker said. 

Ravage gave a full bodied shiver, “Perish the thought.” 

Sunstreaker laughed, “What not in a hurry for more? I don't think I would mind.” 

“You only had one.” 

“Surprisingly. I won’t lie. I was expecting multiples.” Sunstreaker shrugged. This was proving to be far, far more amusing than he thought it would be. “I would have even been fine with multiples. Helios is beautiful, I make beautiful bornlings, and I can’t see how the world isn’t a better place for it.”

Ravage’s tail twitched. “Somehow, I’m not sure everyone on Cybertron would share your advice.” Sunstreaker’s face darkened, and the felinoid wondered if he hadn’t gone too far with the barbed allusion. Sunstreaker knew he wasn’t everyone’s favorite mechs after, well, everything he had done, but it was obvious the yellow mech neither liked to think nor speak about it. “But nevermind,” he cut in quickly. “You’re right, he’s cute. Will you paint his portrait?” There, that ought to be a sufficient diversion, wouldn’t it? Everyone knew Sunstreaker used to be an artist, and vain as he was…

To his credit, the yellow mech seemed to consider it, looking at his Creation for a long while. “It’s tempting, but I don’t think he can stay still long enough yet for me to try. Perhaps, in the future, I’ll be able to attempt it. Wouldn’t you like that, little one?” he cooed at Helios who, in answer, let go of the finger he had been suckling on and burped.

Ravage snickered. “Smooth kid you have here.”

“He’ll get there,” Sunstreaker said softly. “Trust me.” 

“Yeah...I’m sure he will,” Ravage said. His tail flicked. “As fun as this has been, I should go.” 

Sunstreaker snorted, “Fun. If you say so, Deceptibrat. It hasn’t been that bad, and I expect you back. You’ll keep your promise.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I wouldn’t think of going back on my word.”


	7. Chapter 7

Drift wined as he ran through the hallway, his sparkling pressed to his chest and wailing loudly. His hand held the sparkling’s hand tightly, and tried to stem the flow of energon. Ratchet was going to be so mad at him. Tafheet’s voice rose. Drift wasn’t even sure if it was because the cut really hurt, or he was feeling Drift’s own anxiety. 

He ran into the medbay with the screaming bornling, screaming himself. “I need help! I need help now!” 

Sure enough, Hoist was here, hovering worriedly over him, but Drift pushed him away with his flat palm, optics darting right and left for the one mech he trusted to help with the situation. “Ratchet!” he howled as he finally got a glimpse of the older, snarkier medic and Hoist obligingly moved to the side, knowing when he couldn’t reason with a patient. “Help!”

“Drift, calm down!” the older mech snapped, moving toward the swordmech’s with long strides, medical scanners up and working hard, sweeping over Drift and the bitlet -- Tafheet, was it? He couldn’t keep the names of most Sparklings straight due to the sheer numbers of them, but the sound had been rather unique. His systems pinged as they picked up dripping energon. “What happened?!”

“I thought he was sleeping,” Drift babbled, holding up his mini-copy. “I was meditating and when I lighted my optics, he was running his hands over my sword!”

Ratchet turned the little mech’s hand over, and examined the long cut along the palm of his servo. “It isn’t as bad as it could be. Looks like he barely touched the edge. Let me clean it up, and put some nanite paste on it. His self-repair should take care of the rest.” 

“I should have been watching it better. I should never have left it out. Oh, fragging Primus I’m such a bad Creator,” Drift wailed, sounding far more upset than the sparkling. 

“You’re fine, Drift,” Ratchet said. “Accidents happen. This is just not something to flagellate yourself over. It’s not even going to leave a scar.” 

“You are just saying that to make me feel better.” 

“Pretty sure I’m not,” Ratchet snorted. “Just calm down, Drift.” But the other mech just curled into a ball of absolute misery the moment Ratchet took Tafheet over and put him on the nearest medical berth -- which so happened to be the one where he had installed Wrench earlier with a blank pad and a stylus so the Sparkling could ‘write the patient's’ medical records’. It was closer to drawing, of course, but Wrench’s little chest had puffed up with pride at the ‘important task’. Task he dropped the moment Tafheet was installed near him as he crawled over and started to fuss over the other Sparkling. Tafheet’s wailings had subsided, but he was still sobbing and hiccuping as Wrench patted him.

“Drift,” the medic sighed as he noticed the swordmech’s distress, “I’m not saying it to cheer you up. You’re a fine Creator, and it was just an accident -- an accident you won’t let happen again, knowing you. You’re far from being the first one to come and see me about his Creation running into trouble. Eck, you won’t be the last. The other day, I had to calm a fretting Swerve after Zigzag managed to sip the bottom of a cube of high grade he had left on the counter while he was rearranging his stock. And don’t get me started on Whirl’s last visit,” he groaned as he remembered the ‘copter’s erratic behavior over his Creation stinging himself with a needle.

The Lost Light was full of over-doting, over-panicking parents and it sometimes felt as if he was the only true adult left. Which, if he was honest, probably came from his medical subroutines; they had steeled him against pretty much anything.

Drift looked up at him, his lower lip wibbling. “Really?” 

“Yes, really, Drift. You are find. Tafheet will be fine. It is all fine.” He knelt down before Drift to look him in the optics. “You are fine. Now please got up.” 

“Oh....okay,” Drift said. He wrapped his arms around himself and walked with Ratchet over to the medical berth. 

Wrench hissed at him when he stood by the table. “No! No! Bothering patient. Bad, bad. Ta’hee sicks.” 

“Wrench, you are supposed to be working on the medical records, little mech,” Ratchet said gently, trying to distract his creation. It only served to draw his attention to Ratchet himself. 

“Busy! Busy! Ta’hee sick,” Wrench scolded him. 

“I can see that, bitlet.” Ratchet shook his helm. Sometimes Wrench was one of the most high maintenance sparklings. It didn’t help they he was always into things. “And now Carrier is going to make him better, alright?”

Wrench just scolded him again. “Not ‘rier! Wrench!”

Ratchet cracked a smile despite trying to appear perfectly serious. He patted Wrench’s helm, amused. “I’m sure you’d be a good medic to Tafheet, sweetling, but let Carrier do it, okay? After all, I need to show you how to do it first -- unless you know how to already, little one?” 

Wrench looked puzzled, blinking, before he crossed his little arms, looking unhappy, and Drift took advantage of the other Sparkling’s distraction to swoop his Creation in his arms and sit down on the berth himself. Wrench gave him a very unamused look. “Ta’hee sick,” he repeated, and the absolutely adorable glare he aimed at the former Decepticon showed that, as far as the mini-Ratchet was concerned, it was all Drift’s fault.”

“I know, little one, but Ratchet is going to make it all better,” Drift said softly, though Wrench huffed, obviously unconvinced. It took all of the swordmech’s will not to coo at how utterly cute the Sparkling was -- but given he was basically Ratchet in miniature, he shouldn’t have been surprised. The medic was a most handsome mech afterall…

Wrench huffed. “My pati’nt.” He turned his glare back to Drift, his face screwed up in annoyance. “I make Ta’hee better.” He hugged the little version of Drift. “My pati’nt. Go ‘way ‘Rift. Go ‘way.” 

“Now, Wrench. Behave, please.” Ratchet moved to the cupboard and pulled out the nanite gel and mesh wraps. He started working on Tafheet’s hand. “There you go, little mech. You are going to need to bring him in tomorrow, Drift, so I can change the mesh wrap.”

“I can do that. Is it really okay?” 

Ratchet rolled his optics, “Yeah. For the millionth time. It’s going to be okay.” He smirked and raised an optic ridge as Drift looked at him dubiously, obviously unconvinced. Primus, Creator’s instincts had to be quite strong in him if he was dismissing Ratchet’s own word. “Who’s the medic here, me or you?”

Drift flushed, bouncing Tafheet in his arms. “I know, I know. It’s just… I don’t want to see anything happen to him.” He looked down at his mini-copy, his face a mixture of softness and worry, and Ratchet sighed for himself. He had the sneaky feeling he knew where Drift’s anxieties came from. A lifetime in the Dead End had marked stronger Sparks, after all.

“Nothing will,” Ratchet grunted forcefully. “We’re on the Lost Light, not in the slums.”

“And that’s any better?” Drift asked him in disbelief. “Must I remind you of everything which happened on this ship so far?”

Ratchet opened his mouth to protest, and then snapped it shut. “Point taken.” 

Drift nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “This place is dangerous. We are dangerous, and I don’t want my sparkling hurt because of it.” 

“You know...it really is going to be fine,” Ratchet tried again. He really could understand the worry when he thought about it. Bad things had happened on this ship. Bad things had found them in droves. And given their luck, bad things would befall them again. Ratchet made a face as the thought came to him.

Perhaps, yes, just perhaps it was time to head back to Cybertron -- not for long, of course, but perhaps to take a break. Starscream was a slagger, but even he wouldn’t dare touch a Sparkling. At least Ratchet hoped so. The main problem was, wouldn’t they risk contaminating the rest of Cybertron’s population with whatever had ‘ailed’ them? Without knowing the exact causes which had led to the recent ‘additions’ to the ship, getting back to Cybertron held many risks. Ratchet didn’t want to be the cause of a ‘baby boom’ -- even if their species as a whole could have used it.

His CPU suddenly stalled, as he imagined Starscream, Carrying up to his optics, and he made a face, optics widening as he pictured a mini-Starscream. Suddenly, he didn’t know if he had to giggle, snicker, or just howl in fright.

“Ratchet? You’re alright? You’re making funny faces here,” Drift commented worriedly.

“‘rier sick?” Wrench asked suspiciously, optics narrowed.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking maybe it was time we head home...and the ramifications of that,” Ratchet said, his optics meeting Drift’s.

“Oh. OH. But if we are contagious...” Drift made a face of his own. “That could be just as perilous. I don't think the world is ready for another Starscream. One is enough. Then again...that could be said about a lot of bots on this ship.” 

“Ever Unicron’s advocate. My thoughts exactly. It might be safer though, Drift. it might just be safer.” 

Wrench frowned. “This home. “‘Ost ‘Ight home, ‘Rier. A’ready home.” 

“Oh, bitlet,” Ratchet said. He opened his mouth. Lost for words again. 

Wrench huffed loudly, as if he was out of patience. “A’ready home.” 

Ratchet looked at him, and finally nodded, “True enough, bitlet.” He looked around, to Hoist and his own bitlet busy sorting out files, to First Aid who was back from a long time break and a shift at the daycare where his brood stayed most of the day -- six Sparklings being too much for the younger medic to properly keep tracks of -- then back to Drift rocking a calmed down Tafheet, and to Wrench, who still had the most serious expression on his face.

“True enough,” he repeated, and something deep in his Spark felt soothed.

*************

Rodimus watched the chaos unfolding before him with a large grin as he turned to Ultra Magnus, feeling positively giddy. “See, I told you the daycare idea would be a hit!”

The former Tyrest Accords Enforcer looked at him, unimpressed. “Yes, and it was such a hit you almost let WHIRL sign up as a caretaker. Now who’s happy I double-checked the volunteers’ list and screened it three times? I think those Sparklings can be destructive enough without adding a violent, potentially insane mech to the mix.”

The Prime waved the concern asides. “Meh, Whirl isn’t so bad with bitlets, just look at how great he is with Orbit! And I’d be more concerned about the toys. I mean, I would have expected the stuff Brainstorm made to last longer.”

“Whirl is prompt to lose it whenever he thinks he identifies a threat to Orbit, and especially to Orbit’s hands. As for the toys… well, I don’t think Brainstorm planned for the bitlets to use them to hit each other. Could someone take that foam sword out of Helios’ hands?!” he called out loudly, making a gesture toward the yellow Sparkling who, sitting in the playpen, seemed to have the time of his life dealing random hits on a crying Rodimus Junior.

“Aw, let them play, Mags,” Rodimus pouted, seemingly unconcerned about his son’s rough treatment.

“He was hitting him,” Ultra said. “Surely that upsets you. It would upset me!” 

“Well...A. It’s made of Foam. Not going to hurt him. B. I think it’s a pretty bad idea to coddle them. I love him dearly, but I don’t want a brat on my hands. And Yeah....it foam. You do know what foam is, right?” Rodimus’ brow raised up. “Right?” 

“He’s a sparkling.” Ultra Magnus looked shocked at Rodimus’ statement. 

“Well, yeah, but they aren’t made of glass. A little rough and tumble play isn’t going to hurt any of them, least of all my little moppet. It might even build character. And I stand by the Whirl thing. He probably would have done a really good job.”

“We aren’t going to find out,” Ultra Magnus said firmly.

“Spoilsport,” Rodimus groused. “You should try to trust me -- and Whirl -- more, Mags. Eck, you could even try to trust Megatron here; he isn’t half-bad with a bitlet himself, if what I saw of Spock and Megaplex is anything to judge by.”

“... Megatron is actually on the reserve caretakers list,” Ultra Magnus coughed discreetly and fighting down a blush as Rodimus levelled a pouty face at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” he managed to get out after a klik. “Despite my earlier misgivings, Megatron is indeed proving himself to be a reliable caretaker. You see, he...” he started before pausing as he contemplated what Megatron would and wouldn’t have done. For example, he certainly wouldn’t have taken kindly to his son being hit like Rodimus did. Knowing him, he’d probably have put a foam sword in Megaplex’s hand so he could defend himself and… Uh, that was a bad example, and Magnus fought the urge to facepalm at the realisation. “Anyway, I found him adequate for the job and Rung did put in a good word on his behaviour.” 

“And he made reserve only… why?” Rodimus insisted, tone frosty as he tapped his foot impatiently.

“Do you really need to ask?” Ultra replied flatly. “Ex-enemy leader rings a bell? Not everyone on the crew is at ease with him, you know -- and even less so with putting fragile life forms in his care. I’ve been reported several people actually locked themselves in their rooms with their bitlets upon hearing he was on the same deck as them!”

Rodimus stared, then made a face, pinching the bridge of his olfactive sensor. “... Mags? How can we deal with idiots?”

For a moment, Ultra Magnus could only stare, tempted to just reply ‘You included?’ to his Captain. Very, very tempted.

“He has made no move to injure any of the bornlings, I could not see him doing so.” Rodimus rubbed his forehelm, looking positively overwhelmed for a moment. “I understand he was our enemy, but he is not now, Ultra. He’s proven himself not to be.” 

Ultra Magnus raised a brow. He wasn’t even sure HOW to reply to that. “You seem very sure of yourself.” He finally managed. 

“Of course I’m sure of myself. You only have to look to see his interactions with Megaplex to see that he loves that bitlet, and he would never do anything to put him in harm's way. And that includes injuring the other mechs here.” Rodimus rolled his optics. “I can’t believe you of all mechs would allow the fear of others to control your actions.”

“I am just trying to maintain peace,” Ultra Magnus’ tone became testy at the accusations. “Really, Rodimus. I do not think this is something divisive between us. I’m not looking for an argument.” 

“Sure you aren’t,” the Prime drawled, but his optics had softened, something which didn’t escape Magnus, and the large mech’s shoulders relaxed. “It sucks,” the flame-colored mech added, and Ultra Magnus deflated.

“You could try to be more polite.”

“What, you’re afraid the Sparklings will pick up the word?” the Prime taunted. “Do not worry, they’re too small to understand…”

“And scarily intelligent for Sparklings,” Ultra pointed out, Rodimus continuing as if he hadn’t heard him.

“... and even if they do, I think someone else will do their education anyway. Whirl is hardly polite, Cyclonus can have a dirty mouth when he’s in a bad mood and, oooooh, remember that one time where First Aid accidentally pushed the button to the general comm while Ratchet was operating and the whole ship got an earful of your good old CMO swearing a blue streak as he had his hands in, well, Bluestreak?” Rodimus snickered as Magnus blanched. “Mech, I can honestly say I learned a handful of new swear words I hadn’t even suspected existed -- and I met Kup!”

“I hardly find it funny,” the former Tyrest Accords Enforcer mumbled grumpily as he made a mental note to go have a word with the usual loud swearer now he thought about it. “I don’t want my Creations to learn how to swear like a Dead End drunkard before they even know how to say ‘Sire’!”

“Better not mention that before Drift,” Rodimus snapped, optics narrowed, and the larger mech flinched.

“Sorry, it escaped me. But Drift was never a drunkard, and you know I wouldn’t…”

Rodimus gave him a sour look, “Well, don’t let it ‘escape you’ in front of him. You know he’s sensitive about that sort of thing.” Sensitive was the mildest ways of putting it. The tears were about as easy for Rodimus to handle as one of Whirls little fits of destruction. Easier to clean up, but so much more emotionally draining.

“I’m sorry. I misspoke.” Ultra Magnus gave him a pained look. “I would like to think you know me better than to think I would deliberately upset Drift of all mechs.” 

Rodimus leveled him with a disbelieving huff. “Actually, I would. Don’t you think I’ve forgotten the stink you put up when I made him my third-in command.” Rodimus tapped his foot. 

Ultra let out a little huff. “Will you let that go?” 

“No. I don’t think I will.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not for a long, long while yet.”

Ultra Magnus rolled his optics, “I would not say something like that in front of him.” 

“But you would behind his back?” 

“Oh, for the love of Primus, NO.” Ultra threw up his hands in exasperation. “Rodimus, really?”

“You did say the words,” the Prime pointed out. “And I hope for you that not only Drift will not hear them, but mark my words, if Taf ever gets them headed at him…”

“‘Taf’?”

“His bitlet.”

“From the list I’ve been provided with,” Magnus rumbled, “the bitlet’s proper designation seems to be ‘Tafheet’.”

“Same thing,” Rodimus shrugged, and Ultra Magnus about gave up right away; what could he say, really? Besides, it wasn’t as if anyone or anything would ever stop Rodimus to give nicknames to everyone he felt had ‘a too long or too uncool designation’. He was opening his mouth to sigh and try to reason with the Prime again when he felt an insistent tap against his left leg.

Lowering his gaze, he found himself looking at the smiling face of his Magnus-similar creation, who was gazing up at him with arms up, as if silently begging to be picked. Automatically, the large Autobot bent down only to blink as he noticed something pinned to his mini-copy’s chest.

“Rodimus… why is my Creation wearing a Rodimus Star?”

“For generously giving Orbit his last rust stick. It was...pretty adorable,” Rodimus said with a pleased smile. “I think he likes it.” 

Upsilon looked down at his chest, and patted the shiny, gold Rodimus Star. He held up his hands again, whining now, and Magnus finally picked him up. Upsilon curled up against Magnus chest, cooing at him. Ultra rubbed the sparklings back, “I’m not sure I approve.” 

Rodimus struggled, “Really when do you?” 

That, kinda hurt. He didn’t have the best opinion of Rodiums’ actions, but it still...hurt. His spinal plate stiffened. “You are the commander of the ship--”

Rodimus snorted, “Right. More like Co-Captain if you remember right. But nevermind,” he said lightly -- far too lightly, and Ultra wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t forcefully schedule the mech for an appointment with Rung at some point; whatever was going on inside the Prime’s head couldn’t be good in the long term. “So, we got one ‘twin’ down; where is the other?”

“Recharging in the mountain of cushions in the corner with other bitlets,” Magnus answered immediately after sending a ping, nodding in satisfaction as he verified once again the locator ship he had had installed was working just fine. “Epsilon tends to recharge more often than Upsilon. I wonder if it’s because of their size difference and the strength of their Sparks…”

But the Prime just stared at him in disbelief. “Upsilon… and Epsilon. Ugh, Magnus! Have you even thought about the poor kids when you named them?” he groaned. “Couldn’t you be, I don’t know, more imaginative?”

“And that’s coming from someone who named his own bitlet ‘Rodimus Junior’?” Ultra answered with the same disbelief.

Rodimus’ expression turned cagey. “That isn’t his name, Magnus. That is just a nickname. You know how fond I am of those. Really. Do you think I would name my sparkling that? Really?”

“Well...actually yes.” Magnus blinked at him, cycling his optics. “What is his name then?” 

Rodimus shrugged, “Well, I don’t know that you need to know that. Not with how you are acting today.” 

“Just how am I acting, Rodimus?” he asked, feeling more than a little exasperated by the Prime’s trying behavior.

“Like an aft,” Rodimus said smugly. 

“Language! Blast it, Rodimus!” 

“Now who’s doing trash-talking?” the flame-painted mech singsonged, laughing and dodging easily as Ultra swung at him.

“I don’t know who’s acting with the most childishness one here, you or the Sparklings,” Ultra groused, bouncing Upsilon in his arms, much to the Sparkling’s amusement. The mini-Magnus’ hand rested on his Rodimus Star the whole time. It was clear he was proud to have it. “You corrupted him,” Magnus accused, though he couldn’t deny the amusement he felt deep down.

“I did no such thing!” Rodimus proclaimed, winking at the giggling Upsilon before he started to stroke his chin playfully. “You know, perhaps I should give him another one, to celebrate his official nomination as the Day Care’s Junior Enforcer.”

“I am not entirely sure that is wise, Rodimus.” Ultra bounced the sparkling making him squeal in delight. He would never admit it, but it made his spark flutter to know his bornling was happy. “I don’t want him growing up to be spoiled.” 

“Don’t be silly. He deserves it. he’s such a good little sparkling, unlike his sire who is the biggest brat on the lost light. Isn’t he little, Upsilon,” Rodimus cooed, and the sparkling held his arms out to Rodimus. 

“See, he likes me. Don’t you little guy.” Rodimus didn’t even bother to hide the smirk on his face. “Don’t you little Upsilon. Poor little, baby. Saddled with such a name.” 

“I think his name is just fine,” Ultra Magnus sniffed. “It’s a noble, fine name befitting a member of House Magnus.”

“Yeah, yeah, if you say so,” Rodimus waved as he tickled Upsilon under the chin, making the Sparkling laugh louder and louder. “Who’s a funny mechling? Who’s a funny mechling? Yes you are, yes you are. Not at all like your Carrier.”

“Rodimus…” the other mech sighed.

“Excuse me? Captain?” Magnus and Rodimus both turned toward the incoming Blaster, who was gingerly making his way toward them, watching his steps not to accidentally walk on a Sparkling sliding underfoot. “Shouldn’t they all be in the playpen?”

“I’m against caging kids,” Rodimus replied automatically. “Now, you wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes, incoming call from Cybertron,” the communication specialist shrugged. “I thought you’d want to know.”

“From Cybertron?” Ultra Magnus frowned. “Why would they call us?”

Rodimus shrugged, an easy smile on his lips. “Oh, easy: because I asked them to give us a ring.” 

Magnus stared. “You did WHAT?!”

“Of course, I thought I would share our wonderful news,” Rodimus said innocently. “What? You don’t think Starscream would want to know? I DID speak it over with my Co-Captain, and he did agree that it was a good idea.” 

Magnus sputtered, “Rodimus.” 

“Right. I must go. Wouldn’t want to leave ole Screamer waiting, now would we?” He beamed as he picked up Junior and followed Blaster out of the door, leaving a gaping Ultra Magnus in his wake. Rodimus felt absolutely light and giddy. This was going to be amazing.

::Megatron, meet me in the Comm room please, our message got through.::

::Did it?:: came the reply ping, dry and amused at the same time. Megatron, Rodimus mused, could have a wicked sense of humor when he wanted to. ::Knowing Starscream, I had either expected to not get one before next stellar cycle at the very least. Or, more likely, not to get any answer at all. Do you know if he’s alone on call?::

::No idea,::Rodimus replied. ::Why? You’re expecting someone?::

::No, just thinking it could have been amusing if Optimus had been there as well.:: Oh yeah, wicked, Rodimus thought vaguely. ::But nevermind. I have Megaplex with me and I’m on my way. Tell me, did you install the cameras in the daycare room as we planned?::

Rodimus’ grin widened. ::Oh yeah, ready to give them a live feed whenever we decide! And I also took the liberty to put the ship’s general speakers on while I was at it,:: he added with an audible giggle, to which Megatron could only snort.

::Providing the crew with energon and games, hum?::

Rodimus snickered, and sat down in front of the comm, accepting the incoming transmission to the main station. It flicked on, Starscream appearing on the other end. 

Starscream was looking up at the ceiling when the image settled. “This had better be good. I’m a very busy mech you know. In case you don’t realize it I’m running a whole planet while you are gallivanting through space doing Primus knows what. So what, pray tell, have you interrupted my busy day with? More to the point, what has Megatron done now, because I can assure you he is no longer my problem!” 

Megatron cleared his vocalizer, “As far as I can tell I am no one's problem, dear Starscream. It is so nice to see you as well.” 

Starscream looked at them for the first time. “Then what do you want? And why the frag are you taking up my time?” he snapped, and then frowned. He stared at the screen, cycled his optics, opened his mouth. “What am I even looking at?” 

“Perhaps the future,” Megatron stepped forward, with Megaplex on his hip. Starscream squawked, and scooted back in the seat he was in. 

“What the frag is that? What is going on!? What are those things?” He leaned forward, his face getting very close to the screen, “And why does it---why---it looks like you---” 

Rodimus’ lips curled up into the suggest of smiles, “We thought we would introduce you to the newest additions to the crew.” 

Starscream just stared forward, details Megaplex like a Cyber-Vulture, looking him up and down before his gaze slid over Megatron’s frame. The former Warlord had a stupid smile on his face, looking back at Starscream as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and it took all of Rodimus’ willpower not to just give up and bend on the floor laughing his aft off. Then Starscream’s gaze moved to him and to Junior, who was looking at the screen, blinking and sucking on his thumb innocently. He stopped just long enough to give Starscream a chirp and a wave of his tiny hand.

“Come on, Megaplex, say ‘hi’ too to the mean, bad flying mech on the other side of the screen,” Megatron cooed, his smile getting slightly more predatory.

Finally, Starscream seemed to manage to get back to his sense. His vocalizer croaked and made a funny noise or two before he raised a hand and pointed at Megaplex and Rodimus Junior with a shaking finger. “Oh. My. Sweet. Primus. You… you actually managed to knock up each other?! How the Pit did you do that?!”

“Language in front of the Sparklings,” Rodimus chided with utmost serious -- inside, he was cracking up. “And no, we didn’t -- although the interface we had was great and all,” he winked at Megatron, who just stared ahead stoically.

Starscream’s wings shook, and he seemed to shrink --- ooooh, had he needed to sit down? Awesome! “I need a fragging drink,” they heard him whimper. “A mini-Megatron, and a mini-HIM! And what do you mean, you didn’t Spark each other up? Who did then? One of your lackeys?” he added, trying to master his usual sneer but failing spectacularly.

“Weeeeelll,” Rodimus drawled, “if it’s one of the crew, which was ruled out not to be the case, then he got busy like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Busy? Busy how?” You could hear the shaking in Starscream’s voice now, and Megatron made a small sound that was perhaps a giggle.

“See for yourself.”

“What in the FRAG have you mechs been doing?” Starscream screeched on the other side of the comm as he received the feed from the nursery.

“Nothing much,” Rodimus said flippantly. “Just galavanting through space, as you said.” Inside he was rolling. Easiestly the Best Comm Ever. Ever. “We were considering heading back home, but we were not sure if you were equipped to handle our---new recruits.” 

Starscream made a sound suspiciously like a sputter. “Just how many---”

“Everyone on board, actually,” Megatron interrupted. 

“Thats---I don’t have time for this,” Starscream snapped. But the snap was less sharp than usual, and closer inspection revealed the Seeker’s optics were dazed. He probably wasn’t even aware he was mouthing off ‘everyone on board’ mutedly, his processor probably trying to remember the Lost Light’s crew roster and who was actually on the ship at the moment. Obviously, he mustn’t have liked the results he came up with, because he visibly flinched -- and was it Rodimus, or had the Seeker’s face gone paler?

“Well, Starscream? Aren’t you going to hand us your congratulations?” Megatron inquired politely.

“My… congratulations?” the Seeker repeated.

“Well, yes. For bringing forth a whole new generation of Cybertronians,” Megatron smiled.

“And you don’t know the best yet, Star,” Rodimus pipped in. “They’re really like miniature copies, with most of the temper and all!”

Now, this time Starscream did make a weak noise, like a dying mewl -- except far more screechy. “You… you… you… I’ll… I’ll call you back,” the Seeker just croaked and reached out to turn off the communication. Only, he fumbled and missed the first time he did so, and Megatron, Rodimus (and the whole crew who was listening in thank to the speakers, for Rodimus wouldn’t have forsaken them such a pleasant joke) distinctly heard him say: “Wingblade? Blurr? Can you call a medic down there? I don’t think I feel so good…”

The comm finally turned off, and Rodimus burst into laughter, which Megatron not far behind. He laughed so hard energon tears flowed down his cheeks. “Oh, frag, that was worth it. BEST COMM CALL EVER!” 

“Mmmm...yes.” Megatron managed to rein himself into a snicker. “Definitely worth it.” 

“Anyone else you would like to notify?” 

Megatron’s optics twinkled, “I can think of a few mechs.”

*************

Rodimus rocked the fussy sparkling in his room. It had been a long day, and neither of them had slept well the night before. Rodimus because he was giddy about the daycare center, and Junior because he was apparently teething. According to Ratchet anyways. It seemed a wholly unpleasant turn of events. One that Rodimus was glad he had not had to go through, and he wished that his bornling could have passed on as well. The poor thing cried and gnawed on the ring that Ratchet had made for him. Rodimus was not exactly sure how it was supposed to help, but it seemed to be doing the trick. 

“Aren’t you growing fast?” he cooed as he lightly patted his mini-copy in the back. As far as they knew, Junior was the first one ‘teething’, but Ratchet expected a couple other bornlings to go through the process in the next decacycle or so. His good mood diminished slightly as he pondered how long it’d be before the bitlets reached their adult size. So far, the teething aside, they had showed no sign of accelerated growth as they had during gestation, but Ratchet and Perceptor’s tests had showed there was still something in their systems which could influence their growing rate.

He didn’t want to lose his cute bitlet, slag it!

But, he calmed himself quickly enough. Whatever the Sparklings/Clones had in their systems was so infime, so lightly woven in their coding that they shouldn’t, in theory, develop much faster than normal bitlets -- asides perhaps of a freakish smartness, but that was okay, Rodimus decided. Well, perhaps not with Mini-Brainstorm -- the real one was a handful when left alone to his own devices, so perhaps, just perhaps they should keep an optic on the kid version?

… Naw.

“Today was totally awesome, was it not baby?” he cooed again, nuzzling the fussy Sparkling in his arms.

Junior nuzzled him back, clinging as he was want to do. “Reeeee,” Junior mumbled. He had been making so many more sounds lately.

“Yes, ‘Ree. Very good bitty.” Rodimus pressed a kiss against the sparklings forehelm. “You are the best, and today was the best as well.” Rodimus beamed at his mini version, he was easily, and without a doubt the best thing that had happened to Rodimus, ever. “The very best. Did you see the look on ole’ Screamer’s face, Junior? Priceless. Absolutely priceless.” 

Junior gnawed on the ring in way of answer, oral solvent dripping down his chin. 

Rodimus snorted, and wiped it away. “My thoughts exactly.” He bounced the Sparkling in his arms happily, cooing as Junior rubbed his cheek against his chestplate. “Just you wait until you meet him for real,” he added, chuckling as he pictured the scene in his mind. “Oooooh boy, I hope something will be recording, because it’s going to be awesome. Kinda like a trainwreck, but awesome.”

Junior just blinked sleepily at him, making a small sound around the ring.

“Tired, little one?” Rodimus smiled as he walked over the crib, where he comfortably installed the bitlet, making him lie on his belly over the plush mattress -- yet another thing he made sure Brainstorm, Perceptor and whoever wanted to assist them produced in mass. Junior beeped, face snuggling into the soft fabric, optics flickering. Rodimus just crouched on the ground, letting his face peek between the bars as he watched his mini-copy slowly succumb to recharge, for which he was grateful. Now he could also hope to get some well-needed rest.

Deftly, he slept a hand through the bar, slowly rubbing circles over the bitlet’s hands and humming a tune until Junior’s optics darkened and stayed so.

“Good night, Excellion,” he murmured with a smile, for once saying aloud his son’s real name; it was his… their secret, to Excellion and him, although he had come close to telling it to Magnus. Still, it was way more fun to have people do a double-take when he introduced ‘Junior’. Not as fun as Starscream’s face when being told the Lost Light had reproduced, but oh so fun anyway.

He rose to his pedes and leaned over the crib, gently brushing his lips against the Sparkling’s helm. “Rest well, my son, for tomorrow will be filled with new adventures for all of us. Oh, and a call to Optimus” He grinned suddenly. “Wonder how he will take the news…”


End file.
